


Quadrumvirate

by xxSparksxx



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Canon - Book, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, OT4, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 09:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 101,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12650979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSparksxx/pseuds/xxSparksxx
Summary: Noun: quadrumvirate; a group of four powerful or notable people.Caroline instigates it; Demelza is drawn into it; Dwight is intrigued by it; Ross assumes control of it.A deepening of love between four individuals and two marriages.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a short, smutty, OT4 one-shot, and it grew and grew and grew. It is technically still a one-shot! There are no chapter breaks. I have broken it into two parts because of AO3 character limits.
> 
> My eternal gratitude is due to rainpuddle13 and mmmuse. They helped me work through knotty problems, spurred me on when I was struggling, and gave me the confidence to tackle this fic, especially as it became clear that this was going to become a behemoth. Thanks also to mmmuse for beta-reading duties.
> 
> Do not expect this to be nothing but smut. I have tried to craft a believable, solid foundation for these four characters, to enable them to grow together in a way that seems believable, albeit non-canonical! 
> 
> This is predominantly book!verse, and takes place some two or three years after the end of The Angry Tide. There are some spoilers within for events in that book (and thus in the currently-filming s4 of the tv adaptation), but these are small. Ignorance of the book should not spoil your enjoyment of the fic.

It was Caroline’s idea.

 

Of course it was her idea. None of the rest of them would have suggested it, even if any of them had daydreamed – and Ross, at the very least, had entertained the occasional fantasy about Caroline, if not perhaps about the specifics of her suggestion. He and Caroline had once had a rather candid conversation about their mutual attraction, in fact. It had been a known part of their relationship almost since the beginning, though neither of them had been willing to compromise their friendship, or their marriages, for what would have been, inevitably, a single night of passion.

 

But as it was not a single night of passion that Caroline wanted, it was not Ross with whom she raised the subject first. It was Demelza, for Caroline recognised that Demelza was the key, the lynchpin to this. Of all of them, Demelza was the one of whom Caroline was least certain. Ross would never agree, she knew, without his wife’s whole-hearted assent, but she felt reasonably sure that he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea himself. Dwight, Caroline’s own beloved husband, had the singular disadvantage of being willing to do practically anything for all three of the others – for Caroline, of course, but also for Ross, who had been his closest friend for so many years and saved him in innumerable ways. And certainly for Demelza, who barely had to do more than glance at Dwight for him to be doing her bidding. Caroline had never felt jealous of that tendency in her husband. There was a measure of deep-seated guilt in it, she knew, but it was also simply because of who Demelza was. If one knew her, one loved her, and was willing to do a great deal for her. It was as true for Caroline as it was for Dwight.

 

Caroline planned her strategy of approach with all the skill of a general deciding upon battle tactics. Gently, she decided. She must go gently with Demelza. Caroline loved her friend dearly, but she knew that Demelza could be rather provincial in her views. Less so these days, perhaps, now that she had been exposed to more high society, for Ross had taken her to London several times. But even so, though Caroline believed Demelza to be _aware_ that sexual relations could sometimes take place between more than two people, she was certain that Demelza would view such things as indecent.

 

And besides, Demelza still showed a slightly pinched expression whenever marital fidelity, or infidelity, was brought up. This would be quite a different thing, of course, with all partners in agreement, but it would be easy for Demelza to take against the idea in the belief that she would be betraying Ross, or he her. Caroline knew nothing for _certain_ about any physical infidelity on either Ross or Demelza’s part – neither did Dwight, or he would have shared it with her – but she knew enough to know that emotionally, at least, both of them had strayed, and that those wounds, though healed, had left a scar on both the Poldarks.

 

So Caroline knew she must plant the seed very carefully, without confronting Demelza with a firm proposition. She must be delicate – far from her strongest attribute – because she wanted to deepen the friendship between the four of them, not cause it to disintegrate. She loved Dwight, and desired him as much now as she ever had. She was attracted to Ross both physically and emotionally, and always had been. And as for Demelza…well. Demelza had an appeal that was all her own. Caroline had always known that she liked to look at women as well as men, but Demelza was a special case. She was not only handsome, she was also a woman who was very easy to fall in love with, and so Caroline would do nothing in haste. She would not risk losing friendships over a mere possibility.

 

She began by touching Demelza a little more, and letting those touches linger. A hand on Demelza’s shoulder to gain her attention; linking arms when they walked together; keeping her lips pressed against Demelza’s cheek, when they kissed in greeting, for a few moments longer than decorum dictated. Small things that, taken individually, were almost nothing, but taken as a whole were the beginnings of something. Or so Caroline hoped. She was careful, and she was slow, and it was some weeks before she began to achieve any visible results.

 

“What are you up to?” Dwight asked her, one evening when they were riding back to Killewarren after eating supper with the Poldarks. Ross was to return to London in a few days, and they usually dined together before he left. It had been a pleasant evening, and Caroline had been particularly pleased to notice how Demelza had flushed a little when Caroline had taken her hands and kissed her cheek, when they had parted.

 

“What on earth do you mean?” Caroline returned. Dwight was riding beside her, the path wide enough here for them both, but she kept her gaze determinedly ahead. “How suspicious you are, Dwight. I’m sure I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it.”

 

“I’m sure,” said Dwight. She knew, without looking, that he would be smiling. His voice was full of amusement. “Your innocence would be a little more believable, my dear, if I knew you less well.” But he didn’t inquire further, and when the path narrowed and Dwight had to fall behind her, Caroline allowed herself a smile. Dwight might know that she was scheming something, but she was sure he had no idea what.

 

“How slender you are, Demelza,” she commented, a month or so later when she went to Nampara on an unannounced visit. She had found Demelza in the parlour, her three children nowhere to be seen – which was just as well, for Caroline’s purposes. “Your waist seems to get thinner every time I see you,” she went on. “Are you pining away for Ross?”

 

“D’you think I have time for pining, with them three running me ragged?” Demelza laughed. “’Tis maybe this dress. Ross always says I look too thin in it.”

 

“Thinner, but no less beautiful,” said Caroline, letting a touch of sincerity show in her voice and face. Demelza’s laughter faded, and she glanced at Caroline with a queer, thoughtful expression that Caroline, though she knew Demelza well, could not quite read. “Perhaps it is the dress,” Caroline conceded after a moment. She closed the gap between them, joining Demelza beside the window. “But here,” she said, “see – I can almost put my hands around your waist.” She followed word with action, putting her gloved hands on Demelza’s waist. Several layers of cloth separated them, but Caroline did not imagine the way Demelza’s breath hitched.

 

“You’re exaggerating,” Demelza said, quite softly.

 

“Flattering, perhaps,” said Caroline. She didn’t take her hands away, and Demelza did not pull back. They stood together, still and silent, holding each other’s gaze. Still Caroline could not read Demelza. It was, she recalled, a complaint of Ross’s – that he could never be certain what Demelza would think or feel. Sometimes Demelza wore her heart on her sleeve, but sometimes it was locked up tight. Sometimes her responses were unsurprising, and sometimes not. Caroline was not given to nerves, but this inscrutable quality of Demelza’s was, she could admit to herself, making her a little anxious. Ross she could read like a book. Dwight she knew as well as she knew herself. But with Demelza, there always seemed to be something fluid about her thoughts and feelings that made her unpredictable.

 

Demelza moistened her lips, the tip of her tongue flicking out against the upper lip and then the lower. Caroline was distracted by it. She could not help looking at Demelza’s mouth now, rather than her eyes. Such a beautiful mouth, perfectly in proportion to the rest of her face. The lower lip was so plump and, now, glistening a little in the sunlight that streamed in through the window. Caroline was stricken with an overwhelming urge to kiss Demelza, though she knew it would be foolish to do so.

 

“Caroline,” Demelza murmured at last. “Caroline –,”

 

“Mama!” came a shout from nearby, and Demelza stepped away from Caroline as if she had been scalded.

 

The moment was gone. And that was probably a good thing, for she had no wish to push Demelza into anything hasty – and still less a wish to push her _away_ by showing too much too soon. Even so, progress had been made. She was sure, now, that Demelza was not unaffected by her. Nothing much could happen until Ross returned from London, and he was not due until the end of May, nearly three months hence, and Caroline judged that those three months would likely not be enough time to accustom Demelza to the entirety of Caroline’s plan. But it should be long enough for Demelza to grow used to the idea of being attracted to a woman – an idea that Caroline would be careful to foster.

 

She would have been surprised to know that in fact Demelza had been entertaining that very concept for some weeks.

 

Demelza was not unaccustomed to seduction. She had experienced some measure of it from Ross – not with any great consistency, but there had certainly been occasions, over the years, sometimes even a period of weeks or months, when he had plied her with admiring glances and with fleeting touches that had made her skin tingle with anticipation. It waxed and waned, with Ross. Always she knew he desired her, always she knew herself to be wanted and loved. But sometimes Ross seemed to set himself the higher task of making sure she knew how _much_ he wanted her. Their couplings were never perfunctory, never without great pleasure and love, but sometimes they were heightened by Ross’s deliberate, slow-building attentions.

 

Others had tried to seduce her, too. Compliments, less-than-casual touches, shunning other women present at parties. Most of _those_ attempts had been from men she could never have been attracted to, and she had never dreamed of allowing their seductions, clumsy or otherwise, to touch her heart or her body. Only in one case had she erred. Only once had she let her defences down. And it was _his_ seduction that Demelza thought of now. Because now she felt defenceless, as she had then. Then a man had worked his way into her heart and caused her to feel affection, and tenderness, and a strange sense of pity that had led her into allowing him to engage not only her emotions but her physical responses, too. He had seduced her, and she had nearly ruined her marriage because of something that had, after all, been incomparable to her feelings and desire for Ross.

 

Demelza thought – she _believed_ – that Caroline was practicing her seductive skills on her, and she felt defenceless against it.

 

But despite the similarities, there were differences too. She had really known Hugh Armitage so very little, whereas Caroline…Caroline was her dear friend, the dearest female friend she had. They were of such different characters that it might, to an outsider, seem a strange friendship. And yet Demelza loved Caroline, and thought that Caroline shared those sentiments. But it was love as a friend that Demelza had always felt before. Now some different emotion was being stirred in her, something that she had only ever felt twice in her life.

 

She was beginning to become very _aware_ of Caroline. When they were in a room together, Demelza was alert to where Caroline was, and how close she might be at any given time. The way Caroline seemed to be touching her more made butterflies dance in Demelza’s stomach – an anticipation of something that Demelza had never thought of before. She knew, of course, that there were sodomites, and she had heard an occasional piece of gossip, in London, about one or two of the ladies there. She had once or twice seen things, in London, that had been quite shocking to her country sensibilities. But she herself had never looked at another woman with more than admiration. She had never looked at another woman and felt a physical response.

 

The night after Caroline’s unexpected visit, Demelza lay in bed and remembered how Caroline had looked at her. She had looked at Demelza’s mouth as if she wished to kiss it. Her hands on Demelza’s waist had been so light, so gentle – not trapping her at all, merely holding her, as if Demelza had been some scared animal that needed coaxing. Demelza, alone in bed, almost shivered at the memory of it. It had been different to being held by Ross, of course. Ross was as familiar with her body as she was with his, and when he held her like that, his hands spanning her waist, she felt anchored to him, grounded in him. Caroline’s hold had felt more like a question.

 

Demelza’s breasts were heavy and she felt a familiar, almost restless sensation beginning to grow throughout her body. Without quite meaning to, she found herself reaching down, under the bedclothes, to tug her nightdress up. She didn’t take it off – it was too cold for that – but she let the fabric bunch up around her waist, giving her plenty of access to her body. She slid her hand across her stomach, and then up to her breast. Ross loved her breasts, and Demelza loved how he touched them, how he rolled her nipples between thumb and finger, or teased them with mouth and tongue and teeth. She could never quite achieve the same feeling, when she touched herself – as she did sometimes, when he was away in London. She could pinch and roll and caress her nipples, she could cup her breasts in her hands and knead as Ross did, but his hands were different. His touch was different. Sometimes, at certain times of the month when she was particularly sensitive, he could make her climax just by touching her breasts. Demelza could never do that, alone.

 

She closed her eyes and imagined Ross now, imagined he was lying over her, resting between her legs. He would kiss her throat, and pinch her nipples just – oh, just like that. She arched up into her own hands, her nipples hardening with barely a touch. Ross teased her terribly sometimes, spinning out her pleasure until she was begging him for release, and she loved it. She loved the way he looked, resting above her or laid out below her. The night before he had left for London, they had made love like that – Ross lying on the bed, his hands at her breasts while she rode him. His eyes dark, his mouth open as he watched her.

 

Demelza moved her hand down, skimming across her stomach, over the slight swell of her abdomen, and spread her legs a little wider. Her quim was already wet, the folds of her sex slick and her nub swollen. She dipped a finger into her core, flicked her thumb across her nub, and shuddered at the sensations. She was surprised at how wet she was, how _aroused_ she was already. Usually, when she was alone, she felt a slower build-up and a less satisfying peak. But tonight even the barest brush of her thumb over her nub made her hips stutter, heat coursing through her veins. She slid another finger inside and pressed the heel of her hand against her nub, providing herself with just enough friction, just enough movement. She pictured Ross – Ross driving into her, deep inside, hard and passionate and flooding her senses. She tried to recreate the feeling with her own hand – never enough, never the same, but oh, the memory of being full of him was strong enough to bring her spiralling up towards the edge, towards the cliff top over which awaited ecstasy.

 

Unbidden, the image of Caroline gazing at her mouth sprang into Demelza’s mind.

 

The climax was wrenched from her; legs clamping together around her hand, exquisite pressure on her nub, the fingers of her other hand tight around a peaked nipple. It crashed like a wave, and Demelza was carried along by it, her hips undulating, her fingers inside her fluttering, her whole body flooded with the intensity of the feeling. Then it began to wash away, leaving Demelza boneless in the bed, her hands idle, her eyes closed. But though she could hardly move, her mind was far from at peace.

 

To merely _think_ of another person, in the height of passion and by herself, was not an infidelity, Demelza felt. One could not always control one’s thoughts, and it was not as if she had done it while with Ross. But Demelza was discomfited by it. She felt fairly certain that Caroline had been trying to achieve something, these past weeks with her increased propensity for touching Demelza, but she could not imagine what or why. Caroline was happy in her marriage to Dwight, Demelza knew. And Caroline knew, in turn, that Demelza was happy with Ross. She could not understand why Caroline would seek to provoke her – why, given their mutual happiness, Caroline seemed to want something more, and from Demelza of all people.

 

She wished she could talk to Ross about it. But Ross would be in London until the end of May, and it was hardly a topic she could include in her next letter to him. By the time he came home, no doubt Caroline would have grown tired of whatever whim was moving her, and Demelza’s heart would have settled down again. A brief stirring was nothing to concern him with, for Demelza would never – _never_ – endanger her marriage again. She loved Ross too much for that.

 

And if all had returned to normality, there would be no need to even mention the fleeting image of Caroline that had tipped Demelza over into her orgasm tonight. Not least because Demelza had a sneaking suspicion that, far from being dismayed at the idea of his wife thinking of another person – another woman, even – Ross would be intrigued by it. Especially since that other woman was Caroline, towards whom Ross had long been attracted.

 

Demelza did not see Caroline again for some weeks after that. When they did meet, though Demelza had determinedly tried to push aside all untoward thoughts in the meantime, she could not meet Caroline’s eyes and did her best to keep some physical distance between them. She was not rude, but she was careful. Clowance, ten years old and still as harum-scarum as ever, unwittingly helped Demelza by insisting on sitting beside her throughout Caroline’s visit, so Caroline could have no excuse for any of the seemingly-casual touches that had become commonplace lately.

 

Caroline noticed that something had changed, of course. She was not as sensitive to other people’s emotions as Demelza, but as focused on Demelza as she was at present, Caroline could hardly fail to see how she shied away from Caroline, like a skittish animal frightened by some sign of danger. And Caroline couldn’t delude herself as to the cause: she had shown too much, on her last visit, intimated too much. It might have been the way she had put her hands on Demelza’s waist, or perhaps it had been her inadvertent glance at Demelza’s mouth, when they’d been standing close. Whatever it was, something had spooked Demelza.

 

Caroline went back to Killewarren feeling discouraged, but by no means ready to give up. She had known from the beginning that Demelza would struggle with the idea of being attracted to another woman, even before she understood the grander scheme that Caroline had concocted. There were other obstacles to her goal, other factors that she knew must come into play, later on – not least the knowledge that neither Dwight nor Ross had ever expressed any sort of inclination for certain particulars of her idea – but this was Caroline’s first hurdle, her first stumbling block.

 

She could not immediately see how to proceed. Obviously her tactics so far had been successful, in the sense that Demelza had clearly understood some of what Caroline had been trying to convey subtly. And yet she had erred somewhere too, for Demelza’s behaviour could hardly give Caroline any encouragement. Caroline wondered, as she dismounted her horse and gave the reins over to a groom, whether she had been wrong to approach Demelza first, after all. She wondered if she might have had better luck with Ross, who was worldly enough to understand what Caroline intended, and who she already knew was attracted to her, at the very least. And he had been married to Demelza for years now – some fifteen years in fact, or so Caroline thought – and so he was, of course, the person who knew Demelza best.

 

Yet even he admitted that Demelza could be an unknown quantity. Besides, Caroline rather suspected that if she had gone to Ross and explained her idea, and he had in turn tried to explain it to Demelza, then Demelza would have seen the whole thing as gross infidelity, as Ross trying to excuse or justify his attraction for Caroline. She would not have understood; because Ross had strayed once before, Demelza would likely have had an instinctive aversion to Caroline’s idea if Ross had presented it to her.

 

No, Caroline decided, she had made the right choice. Demelza first. And Caroline knew, now, that Demelza had _some_ response to her. That Demelza felt troubled and unsure was clear, but those emotions also meant that she was not unaffected. It was a beginning, and Caroline would fling off her discouragement as she would fling off her riding habit and hat once she was inside the house.

 

Unusually, she found Dwight at home and, even more unusually, he was in the parlour rather than in his study. He looked up at her when she came into the room, and at once put down the newspaper he had been reading.

 

“Has something happened?” he asked. “Is there bad news at Nampara?”

 

“It is most inconvenient to have a husband who knows my expressions so well,” said Caroline, to the room in general. “It makes it quite impossible to keep anything secret.” Dwight began to speak, but Caroline silenced him with a kiss, and a hand stroking through his soft hair. Dwight subsided under her ministrations, but when they parted, he raised an eyebrow at her and pulled her down into his lap.

 

“I am not sufficiently distracted to forget how you looked when you walked through the door,” he chided her. “What has happened, Caroline?”

 

“Oh, my horse threw a shoe on the way home,” Caroline said, lying through her teeth. Then, because Dwight had known Demelza for longer than she and might have some suggestion to make, she added: “But I believe I may have – quite by accident, you understand – upset Demelza, a little.”

 

Dwight frowned. “Demelza’s hardly one to get distressed over trifles,” he said. “What did you say to her?” His eyebrows drawn together, there was a slight wrinkle between them and on his brow, and Caroline, as she always did, felt an urge to smooth the wrinkles away – with her fingers, sometimes, but more often with her lips. Sometimes she did so, if the circumstances were right, but the parlour in the middle of the afternoon was hardly suitable. She contented herself with kissing the end of his nose, as a result of which he looked momentarily cross-eyed. That made Caroline laugh, genuinely enough that she thought it would throw him off the scent.

 

“Now _that_ I cannot tell you,” she teased him. “We women must have some secrets, you know.” Dwight looked as though he might protest, but then he sighed and nodded, as if conceding her point. “But I so rarely have upsets with Demelza,” Caroline went on, “and I cannot think how to improve things again.” She and Demelza disagreed on many things – or perhaps it was fairer to say that their views on the world were often so different as to be scarcely compatible – but Demelza had never acted like this around Caroline before, because never before had Caroline made Demelza…uncomfortable. Yes, that was the best way to describe Demelza’s behaviour that afternoon. She had been uncomfortable.

 

“I shouldn’t have thought you’d need to do anything more than apologise,” Dwight said. “You know Demelza doesn’t hold grudges. She’s hardly capable of it.”

 

“No, I know she doesn’t,” Caroline agreed. Demelza was far too good-natured for that – though there was, of course, the one notable exception, the man for whom Ross held a deep-seated loathing. Demelza, because of her principles of loyalty, shared in Ross’s enmity in that case. But in general, Dwight was right; Demelza didn’t hold grudges. But this wasn’t as simple as Dwight was imagining. A simple apology might only make matters worse, bringing out into the open the idea that Caroline wanted Demelza, that she wanted them to become closer – that she wanted the _four_ of them to become closer in a way that Demelza would never have imagined.

 

Perhaps it was all impossible. Perhaps Caroline had set her sights too high. And she was, after all, perfectly content with Dwight. She loved him, more than anyone else in the world. There was nobody else with whom she could imagine herself growing old. It was just that…well, that whenever Caroline thought that far ahead, she felt some sense of confusion, as if there was something missing. She and Dwight, and Ross and Demelza, would likely grow old happily as they were now. And Caroline had known going into it that she would do nothing to jeopardise the friendships that she valued greatly. But she wanted more. She wanted to kiss Demelza, to taste her lush mouth and to touch her in intimate ways; she wanted to see Dwight kissing Demelza, to see two of her dearest loves together in that way. She wanted to kiss Ross – oh, she wanted that very much, though if it had merely been about her attraction to him, she would never have dreamed of acting on it. And there was a wicked part of her that wanted to see the two men together, Ross and Dwight embracing each other. She had imagined it more than once, how it might work with the four of them. A tangle of limbs and mouths and love.

 

An apology would not do. Not unless Caroline was willing to expose herself and risk everything. But that might be the only way forward, now that Demelza had become aware of _something_ in Caroline’s behaviour and attentions to her. Perhaps candour was the only choice, now.

 

“I wonder,” she murmured. Dwight made an enquiring noise, but Caroline said nothing else. She was too engaged with thinking about this new notion of honesty, and she scarcely noticed when Dwight reached around her to retrieve his newspaper. After a few minutes she disentangled herself from his lap and shook her skirts out. “Thank you, Dwight,” she said. “By the by, I ordered fish for supper, so do be sure to have your tweezers ready.”

 

The old, familiar tease made him laugh, and as Dwight’s laughter always bolstered Caroline’s confidence, she decided that she would risk this new tactic with Demelza, and do so as quickly as possible. Accordingly, scarcely a week passed before Caroline went back to Nampara, filled with the same kind of steadfast determination that had carried her through Dwight’s imprisonment in France. She was resolved to be honest with Demelza, and deal with the fallout – and trust that Demelza’s good nature, and inability to hold a grudge, would keep their friendship from being ruined should Demelza be repelled by Caroline’s proposition.

 

Demelza was surprised to see Caroline back so soon, and disconcerted. She had assumed she would have more time to marshal her defences – for their last meeting had shown her that she _needed_ more time. She needed time to set aside, fully and completely, the fleeting image that had tipped her over into a climax, and to build walls in her mind and heart against whatever was happening. She could not understand why Caroline was acting as she had been, but the reasons could not matter, Demelza was clear upon that. If it was some game, some trick, then Demelza – and Ross, and Dwight – had been desperately deceived by Caroline, who Demelza had never believed to be malicious. And if Caroline meant something more serious…

 

Demelza had not dared to venture down that path in her thoughts. She clung to her loyalty to Ross and refused to allow herself to think any further.

 

Still, when Caroline arrived, Demelza greeted her as warmly as usual and took her through into the parlour. She was acutely aware of Caroline’s gaze as she rang the bell and ordered tea, but she refused to acknowledge it. Instead she relayed some of the news from Ross’s latest letter, and listened to Caroline speak about a repair needed at Killewarren, and gradually began to relax a little as the conversation seemed to remain firmly on the mundane, the safe trivialities of their lives.

 

But once the tea had been served, and the parlour door shut, Caroline set aside her teacup and looked directly at Demelza.

 

“I have made you uncomfortable,” she said, frank as only Caroline could be. Demelza began to protest, but Caroline held up a hand to silence her. “No, it’s true,” she said. “But perhaps you’ll give me leave to explain.” Demelza wet her lips, unthinkingly, and then felt her cheeks begin to warm as Caroline’s eyes were attracted, once again, to her mouth. After a few moments Caroline seemed to recollect herself. “You see,” she said, “for some time now I have very much wanted to kiss you.”

 

Demelza was suddenly very glad that she was not holding her own teacup; she was sure she would have dropped it. She stared at Caroline, and tried to form words but failed to find the right words to speak. Her mouth moved silently, her stomach fluttered wildly, and her cheeks burned. Caroline was joking. Of course Caroline was joking. It was a tease, a cruel tease – Caroline had always liked to tease, but she’d rarely turned her sharp wit on _Demelza_ before. Never, in recent years, as their friendship had deepened. Caroline teased Dwight, and teased Ross, but she had always seemed to treat Demelza differently. And yet it must be a jest, for Caroline could not be serious.

 

“You’re shocked,” Caroline murmured. Only now did she look away, down at her lap. Her hands, Demelza noticed, were twisting together in her lap. Caroline was _nervous_ , she saw, and it was a stunning thing to realise, for Caroline was so rarely nervous, and even when she was, she was too well-bred to show it. “I knew you would be,” Caroline added. She seemed to be trying to speak carelessly now, as it was perfectly normal that she should be here, in Demelza’s home, declaring that she wanted to kiss Demelza. But there was too much studied nonchalance in her expression and voice to quite manage the carelessness she sought.

 

“You are – you are not being kind,” Demelza said breathlessly. “’Tis a cruel joke, Caroline –,”

 

“It isn’t a joke,” Caroline interrupted. “I truly wish to kiss you.”

 

“But why?” Demelza lifted her hands to her face, cold palms against her hot cheeks. “Judas God,” she said. “Why would you say such a thing? It can’t be true. Women don’t – we don’t - not with –,” But even as she tried to say it, she knew that it was not true. Caroline’s expression was all fond exasperation as Demelza faltered. “Judas God,” she said again, feeling unaccountably weak suddenly. “Caroline, I – I’m _married_.”

 

“Yes,” agreed Caroline.

 

“And you’re married! Happily – Dwight is –,”

 

“Dwight and I are perfectly happy,” said Caroline, “and I know you and Ross are too. But I…” She was the one to falter now, the one to pause and search for her words. Demelza kept her hands at her face and stared at Caroline, bewildered, waiting. She was shocked, and disturbed, and horribly, terribly aware of how much the idea of kissing Caroline appealed to her. “I will do nothing to make you uncomfortable,” Caroline said at last, in a low voice. “If you tell me you do not wish it, I will never again speak of it. I give you my word.”

 

“But why?” Demelza asked again. “Why, Caroline? You know – you _know_ how much Ross and I have struggled, why would you want to – to tell me this thing, when it can only cause pain to all of us?” If Ross ever discovered – if Demelza were to let Caroline kiss her, to kiss Caroline back in return – it would be another betrayal, and she knew their marriage could not suffer that again.

 

And yet, there was the nagging suspicion that he might not object. She knew how Ross looked at Caroline sometimes. He had always had a partiality for Caroline, even before they had become firm friends, and Demelza understood what he admired in Caroline. In many ways, she shared his admiration. Caroline was attractive, and vivacious, and utterly uncaring what most people thought of her. She had unexpected moments of kindness and compassion, and she was a loyal, steadfast friend. Demelza loved her dearly, and knew Ross felt likewise, and she had not been jealous of it for many years now.

 

Once, on a visit to London, she and Ross had been leaving the theatre and caught sight of a pair of prostitutes. Two women with painted faces and low-cut bodices, twined around each other in the shadowy corner of an alley, one kissing the other’s throat while both of them watched, avidly, for a gentleman who might be tempted by the sight. Men passing by had whistled, and called out obscene suggestions. Demelza had been shocked, and Ross had hurried her away from it with assurances that such sights were not common.

 

“But do men really like that?” Demelza had asked, when they had reached their lodgings. “To see two women…” She had struggled to put it into words. Two women embracing, kissing, making love to each other, all for the desires of the men who paid for them.

 

“Some men,” Ross had said. He’d fussed with his neck tie then, and Demelza had recognised it for what it was: a way to keep from meeting her eyes.

 

“Do you?” she’d asked teasingly. “Do you like it, Ross?” He had glanced swiftly at her and then away, and that was all the answer she’d needed. Yes, he found pleasure in the sight of two women, but he would not admit it to her, and she had quickly forgotten the incident. Until now. Until this afternoon, this very hour, as Caroline sat across the room from her and admitted wanting to kiss Demelza. Now Demelza recalled, vividly, the spark of interest in Ross’s eyes when he’d seen those harlots, and the way he had not answered her question.

 

Ross might very well _like_ the idea of Demelza kissing Caroline. He might very well find the idea of it – the _sight_ of it, even – intriguing, even arousing. Demelza closed her eyes for a moment, willing away the vision that swept into her mind’s eye. She and Caroline, kissing as those two prostitutes had kissed, with Ross watching on. Her stays suddenly felt too tight around her breasts, too confining. Her skin was tingling, all over. Even if Ross did not find it arousing, Demelza could not deny that she did. And yet it could not be. It could not possibly be.

 

“I don’t want to cause pain to anyone,” Caroline said, still in that low, unhappy voice. “I love you all far too much to want to ruin anything – neither your marriage nor mine, nor our friendship. Please believe me, Demelza.”

 

Demelza let her hands fall into her lap. Then, for something to do, she picked up her teacup and stirred her tea unnecessarily. Her mind was whirling too fast to pluck out a single thought, a single question, and voice it. She was too confused to speak, confused not only about Caroline’s intentions, but about her own feelings, too. One thing, and one thing alone, was clear in her mind: she would not betray Ross. Not again.

 

Caroline sensed the way Demelza’s thoughts were turning, saw it in the slight tightening of Demelza’s jaw and a growing blankness in her eyes. “Let me explain myself fully,” Caroline said quickly, aware that her opportunity was fast disappearing. She rose and went to sit beside Demelza on the couch. Demelza did not move away, nor even flinch, and Caroline took heart from that. “You will let me explain? Then…it’s simply this. I – I have been half in love with Ross for years, and I’m still madly devoted to Dwight, of course, and you are the dearest, sweetest woman in the world and far too easy to fall in love with. And I want us – _all_ of us – to become…more to each other.”

 

“All of us,” Demelza echoed. “You mean…”

 

“I mean all four of us,” Caroline said bluntly. “You and me and Ross and Dwight. Together. At the same time.” Demelza’s cheeks turned from a flushed pink to palest white, and her eyes were as wide as Caroline had ever seen them. Her lips were parted, just a little. She was shocked; of course she was shocked. Even Caroline had never heard gossip about the kind of thing she was proposing, and Demelza was far less worldly. “My wish,” Caroline said, more carefully now, “is for our friendships to become deeper.”

 

“I don’t understand,” Demelza murmured. “I don’t understand what you mean.” She was still far too pale, even for her complexion. It exaggerated the richness of her hair and eyes, making her seem, to Caroline, even more attractive than ever. “Caroline,” Demelza said, her lilting accent making the name sound like a caress. “Caroline, d’you mean – what do you mean? You want a – a –,” She was clearly struggling for the right word, and finally Demelza sighed, and set aside her teacup. “I don’t know what to call what you seem to be suggesting,” she said. “But I do not think it can be decent.”

 

“Undoubtedly not,” Caroline agreed. She made absolutely certain that her expression betrayed none of the laughter that had risen within her, wildly inappropriate though it was. “It is, I suspect, wholly _indecent_ , in fact, but since it would never be known except to the four of us, who is there to disapprove?”

 

“But we couldn’t all fit in the one bed,” Demelza said. She lifted her hand to cover her mouth, as if she could keep back the words she had already spoken. Caroline couldn’t help laughing then, because Demelza’s words showed she was already beginning to imagine it, to think the idea through. There was hope, however little of it, and so Caroline laughed. “Judas God,” Demelza moaned, muffled through her hand. “Stop _laughing_ , Caroline. T’isn’t funny, t’isn’t…” Then she dropped her hand back into her lap, and Caroline saw that Demelza was fighting a smile. “We’d all fall out,” she said. “We’d end up with bruises and – and Dwight’d end up doctoring – oh, Caroline.”

 

“Oh, he would,” Caroline agreed merrily. Hope, that nebulous emotion, seemed to have filled her heart so much that she was sure her chest could not contain it. “He’s most solicitous of a bruise or a scratch, I assure you.” Demelza looked at her for a moment more, and then she laughed too. There was a note of hysteria in her laughter, but not enough to concern Caroline; it was only a brief letting-out of Demelza’s emotions. She was sober again quickly enough. “But in seriousness,” Caroline said, “you must know I’m not merely talking about a…a one-off night of frivolity, Demelza. I would not dream of risking all our friendships for such a thing.”

 

Demelza moistened her lower lip, and then took up her cup again and drank the tea in two gulps. “I think I need something stronger,” she muttered. Caroline was disappointed when Demelza rose, but once she had retrieved a bottle from the side cabinet, and two glasses, Demelza came back to sit on the settle beside Caroline. She poured them each a measure of port. “I know ‘tis early,” she said, half-apologising. “But you’re saying such _things_.” Caroline accepted her glass and took a sip, but Demelza drained half her glass at once. It was highly likely, Caroline knew, that the port would mellow Demelza, make her more able to listen and accept what Caroline was saying. Perhaps more able to accept something else, too. She schooled herself to patience; the last thing she wanted was to spook Demelza again, at this stage. She must let Demelza come to some conclusion in her own mind before Caroline pushed her luck.

 

At length Demelza spoke again. “You mean you want more than just…more than just…” She didn’t seem able to bring herself to say the words outright. Caroline could think of half a dozen different ways of speaking of sex, some rather cruder than others, but Demelza, if she could think of similar phrases, could clearly not manage to say them.

 

“More than,” Caroline agreed, keeping her voice as gentle as she could. “Yes, I do mean that.” Demelza drank some more port; Caroline topped up her glass. “I don’t seek the levels of intimacy that one reaches with marriage,” she said. “There is part of me that will always be Dwight’s alone, and I know you feel the same for Ross.” Demelza nodded, but said nothing. Her eyes were downcast now, fixed upon her glass of port. Caroline did not try to make her look up. Not yet. “But it isn’t mere pleasure that I want, either,” she continued. “If a night or two would suffice, I should never have mentioned it, Demelza. You know me too well to think that I would risk the destruction of our marriages for such a thing.”

 

“Yes,” Demelza murmured. “I know you would not.” She lifted her glass, took a sip. Then she took a great gulp. “But how,” she said then, “could such a thing…how could it _work_ , Caroline? Marriage is between a man and a woman – two people – and we have our own lives…”

 

“Well, I never thought it would be easy,” said Caroline, letting a little humour shine through in her voice. “I don’t have all the answers, Demelza. I think…I _think_ I may say, without flattering myself, that Ross has always had a fancy for me.” Demelza glanced up at her for a moment, her eyes hooded and unreadable, then finished her glass of port. Caroline didn’t quite dare pour her a third, not at this stage. “And I know for myself that I desire all three of you,” she said, gentler again now. “I am, I confess, least certain how our husbands might view the idea of each other…but am I wrong in thinking that you desire me, Demelza? At least a little?”

 

Demelza twitched. It seemed an involuntary movement. Then she turned her face away from Caroline, who watched her and hoped that she had not misread the signs, these past few weeks. She _thought_ that Demelza had become physically more aware of her; she had seen how Demelza’s cheeks had flushed and how she had, sometimes, almost leaned into Caroline’s touch. And yet Demelza could be so unreadable, her inner thoughts at times hidden expertly even from those who knew her best. Perhaps Caroline had only been seeing what she wanted to see. All Caroline could see of Demelza’s expression now was the set of her jaw, and the way her eyelashes brushed against her cheeks when she blinked.

 

Then Demelza turned back towards her. “All these long days,” she said softly, “I’ve been thinking how I can’t betray Ross again. Not ever again. You know how hard it was, Caroline.” Caroline nodded, but remained silent, even though Demelza’s words made her feel so hopeful, so full of bubbling happiness at what Demelza was implying. But this was Demelza’s turn to speak, to voice her fears or desires or whatever else she wished to express. “And now you come and tell me that you don’t mean anything like that,” Demelza went on. “You don’t mean betrayal at all, you mean…you mean something I never thought of, not ever. ‘Tis a great deal to think on. And I’ve no notion what Ross will think.”

 

“No,” Caroline murmured. “No, nor I Dwight, in all honesty.”

 

“But,” Demelza said, “you are – you’re not wrong to think that I...” She trailed off, as if words failed her. But her actions spoke louder than any words could, for she set aside her empty glass and reached out to clasp Caroline’s hand. Her cheeks were more flushed than ever Caroline had seen them, her eyes bright but steadfastly meeting Caroline’s. It was more than a mere gesture of friendship; Demelza entwined their fingers, linking them together, and her steady gaze was open and frank. “You’re not wrong,” she said again.

 

Caroline swallowed, and slowly, carefully, brought their hands to her mouth and kissed Demelza’s knuckles. “I’m glad,” she whispered. She felt as though she could barely breathe. She felt as though Demelza had given her some great gift, which might be withdrawn at any time but was, for now, _hers_. Demelza did feel it, she _did_ desire Caroline. Perhaps not as Caroline desired Demelza, not yet, but Demelza felt something, and admitted it. It was more than Caroline had hoped for, at this meeting today. She had been so afraid that Demelza would shun her for wanting something so extraordinary, something so much _more_ than the ordinary bounds of close friendships. And yet Demelza admitted to desire. She admitted to thinking about Caroline in such a way. “May I – may I kiss you, Demelza?” Caroline dared. Demelza nodded, though she looked unsure and almost afraid suddenly. Caroline held Demelza’s hand tight, leaned forwards, and pressed her mouth to Demelza’s.

 

It was a chaste kiss, to begin with. A simple meeting of lips, Demelza’s chapped and Caroline’s softer. Demelza was unresponsive, so still that she could almost have been carved from marble. Then Caroline lifted her free hand to touch Demelza’s cheek, and when Demelza inhaled sharply – in surprise, perhaps, or even in pleasure – Caroline took advantage of Demelza’s parted lips, flicking her tongue across Demelza’s lower lip and teasing, just _teasing_ that she might like to dip into Demelza’s mouth and taste her. Demelza made a sound, deep in her throat, and Caroline had to remind herself to be slow, to be careful. But Demelza’s mouth softened, she relaxed into the kiss, and oh, a moment later her tongue darted out to meet Caroline’s, and Caroline couldn’t help herself. She kissed Demelza with all the longing she had felt for so many months now, her hand cupping Demelza’s cheek, her tongue working across Demelza’s lips and into her mouth, tongues meeting and touching and tasting, and she could feel how Demelza was trembling, but it did not seem to be fear or disgust – no, not when Demelza was responding to Caroline so fully, not when she put her free hand on Caroline’s shoulder, fingers clutching as if to keep Caroline close.

 

At last Caroline withdrew. Demelza’s mouth felt swollen, and she put her fingers to her tingling lips. Caroline looked as stunned as Demelza felt, and for a while they simply sat and looked at one another, quiet together in the parlour, detached from the rest of the world.

 

“It is very different from kissing a man,” Demelza said at last. “Softer. No…” She touched her own face, then brushed her fingers along Caroline’s jaw. “No stubble,” she murmured. “’Tis much softer.”

 

“Yes,” said Caroline, breathless still. “Yes, I…I did not quite know how it would feel. But softer, yes. Your face, against mine.” She covered Demelza’s hand with hers, keeping it at her face. Demelza stroked her thumb against the smooth skin of Caroline’s cheek, scarcely able to believe what she was doing, or what had just happened. Caroline had kissed her; she had kissed Caroline. And the world had not ended, and though Demelza was still afraid of what Ross would have to say, she felt much less as though she was betraying him, now that Caroline had explained everything that she wanted. Nothing more could happen, nothing more than a kiss – or perhaps two – or maybe a few more…but nothing more than that could happen until Ross was home, until he and Dwight had agreed to this. A few kisses, though, might be permissible. A few kisses could not be a betrayal, not even if Ross did not agree to Caroline’s proposition, in the end. A few kisses only – enough, perhaps, to grow a little more accustomed to kissing another woman.

 

“I liked it,” Demelza confessed in a whisper, unable to voice it louder. It felt as if this was some dark secret, this thing between them, and even though they were alone in the parlour, and the door was shut, Demelza did not feel able to admit how much she had liked kissing Caroline at anything approaching normal volume. “I – I think that I would…like to do it again.”

 

“I would like that,” Caroline murmured. “I – may I –,” She did not finish her sentence; Demelza did not _let_ her finish. Seizing her courage, seizing the moment, Demelza used her hand on Caroline’s cheek to tilt her face to just the right angle, then she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to Caroline’s.

 

She did not begin chastely, as Caroline had. She began with the fierceness of the unexpected desire pulsing through her veins, tongue swiping across Caroline’s lower lip and then into her mouth. It was so different to kissing a man, not only because of the lack of moustache or beard or stubble. Perhaps it was merely that this was so new, so indecent and forbidden, that made it feel so different. Caroline’s mouth was so perfectly sized against her own, Caroline’s tongue meeting hers and teasing, fluttering, until Demelza was breathless and her heart was thumping fit to burst in her chest. And yet, though she desperately needed to catch her breath, she could not help making a discontented sound when Caroline pulled away, hands pushing at Demelza’s shoulders.

 

“Too much,” Caroline gasped. “Demelza – _oh_ –,”

 

“Yes,” Demelza managed. “Yes – yes, too much, it’s…” She covered her mouth with a hand and willed herself to calmness. It was too much. She was used to feeling like this with Ross, even after so many years of marriage. Ross could create such _feelings_ in her, desire and love and a desperate need for him to touch her. Nobody else had made her feel that way. Nobody, not even Hugh Armitage. And yet Caroline had done it with two kisses and a clasping of hands. It was a dizzying, terrifying thing to acknowledge.

 

Demelza rose and went a few steps away from Caroline, hand still covering her mouth, the other resting at her hip. She had to think, to pause and reflect on what was happening and how best to proceed. She badly wanted Ross. She wanted to talk it over with him, to confess her fault in finding this new desire so powerful and to gain his blessing and agreement to continue, with him, in this new deepening of their relationship with their friends, Dwight and Caroline. Because Demelza did begin to see what Caroline meant by it; she perceived, as if by instinct, how much _more_ could be gained by it. There would be no loss without it, Demelza felt, but oh, how much could be gained. If this passion between she and Caroline was no passing thing, if her love could deepen into more than the love of friendship…if Ross felt the same, if Dwight did too…

  
There were too many ifs, and Demelza disliked uncertainty. She had endured too much of it, in life and in her marriage, and she was loathe to allow much of it into this, whatever this might become.

 

“Ross wrote last week to say he expects to be back on the twenty-fifth of May,” she said eventually. Seven weeks, or thereabouts, unless something should happen to delay him. It happened sometimes, though Ross had said nothing in his latest letter about anything that might have the potential to keep him in London for longer. He preferred to be back in Cornwall early enough to oversee the summer harvests, but sometimes he was late, kept in Parliament for a vote or through some alliance or allegiance to his fellows there.

 

“Yes,” Caroline said quietly. “Yes, I know he is.”

 

“I cannot…I _cannot_ do anything more without him, Caroline,” Demelza said, still not turning back to face her friend. “It wouldn’t be right, or fair. Not to him, nor to Dwight – nor to – to anything that we might all become.”

 

“Of course not,” murmured Caroline. Demelza heard Caroline rise, heard her come closer, and then she felt Caroline’s hand on her shoulder. “I had to come to you first,” Caroline said. “Do you see that, Demelza? I could not have gone to Ross or to Dwight without knowing that _you_ might want this too.”

 

There was a tentative note in her voice, something timid and unsure. It was so unlike Caroline that Demelza was moved at once to comfort her. She turned to face Caroline, caught Caroline’s hands in hers, and offered the other woman reassurance in expression and words.

 

“Of course I see,” she said. “Of course I do. T’was the only way.” She kissed the knuckles of Caroline’s left hand, then her right. It was impulsive and reckless, but it felt right to do it. “Besides,” she added, “I misdoubt whether Ross or Dwight would have enough brains between the two of them to think beyond the idea of us two together.” Her cheeks were burning as she said it, but the attempted jest hit its mark, and Demelza was gratified to see how Caroline laughed, the faintest trace of a blush in her cheeks. She smiled, and squeezed Caroline’s hands for a moment before releasing them. “Give me time to think on it all,” she said then. “And when Ross is back…well. We’ll see.”

 

“We’ll see,” Caroline echoed. “I – I shall not mention this to Dwight, yet. Not until Ross is back. I said before that I don’t quite know what he might have to say.”

 

“Nor I, Ross,” said Demelza. She could not help a laugh, breathless and incredulous, at the thought of Ross might say, how he might look. She could picture, so clearly, the interest that would spark in his expression; the darkening of his eyes, the parting of his lips, the quickening of his heartbeat as he thought about it and imagined it. “I think,” she said after a moment, “I _believe_ that he would not dismiss the idea out of hand, if he could be sure that we are all agreed. And if it would not affect our – our friendships. But I cannot speak for him.”

 

“No,” agreed Caroline. “Of course not.” She touched her mouth with her fingertips, as if she, too, felt some lingering sensation from their kiss. “I ought to go, then,” she said, muffled by her fingers at her lips. “I shall go. We will see each other soon, shan’t we?” Demelza nodded, though she wondered quite how they would greet each other on their next meeting. She wondered how she could look Dwight in the eye, knowing that she had kissed his wife and that he knew nothing of it.

 

Caroline took her fingers from her mouth and put them, briefly, to Demelza’s lips. “Until next time, then,” she said. “No, don’t see me out. I ought to know the way by now!”

 

Caroline left the parlour with her composure seemingly intact, for all the world as if nothing of consequence had taken place between her and Demelza, and Demelza stood still and alone in the parlour until she heard the familiar hoof beats of Caroline’s horse signalling that she had left Nampara and was returning to Killewarren. Then Demelza moved, hurrying up the stairs to splash cold water on her face before anybody could see her. She peered at her reflection in the dressing table mirror, patted down her hair, and judged that only Ross might now be able to tell that something was perturbing her – and since Ross was away, her secret was safe enough. Certainly neither Jeremy nor Clowance would see anything amiss, and Isabella-Rose, though a forward child in many ways, was too young to notice anything. So Demelza dried her face and went back downstairs, to once again become embroiled in the safe, familiar routines of family life.

 

She saw Caroline only twice more during the following weeks as they both waited for Ross’s return from London. Once Caroline came with Dwight, when Dwight came to doctor one of the farm workers. She and Demelza had a brief, pleasant visit – just enough time to sip a glass of cold lemonade while Dwight tended to his patient - and afterwards Dwight prevailed upon Demelza to join them for supper, some time within the next few weeks. Demelza agreed, but only because Caroline had behaved so irreproachably this time, and Demelza presumed that she would be similarly well-behaved as hostess in her own home. And so it proved, to a point. Caroline was as she ever was, friendly and provocative in turn, but she took no care to keep an appropriate distance between them, touching Demelza at every opportunity in the casual, small ways that Demelza had almost come to expect. She thought that Dwight noticed, for once or twice Demelza caught him giving Caroline a puzzled look; perhaps, Demelza reflected, Caroline _intended_ for him to notice, for Ross was due to return in just two weeks’ time.

 

Dwight escorted Demelza home after supper, riding with her across the familiar countryside between Killewarren and Nampara. They talked idly as they went. Demelza told him about Clowance’s latest exploits and the grazes that had graced her knees as a result. Dwight grumbled about the difficulty of managing an estate, even with an agent to deal with the day to day matters – a complaint that he only made to Demelza, and only when they were alone, for she was the only one of the four friends who knew what it was like to move between different stations in society. Ross and Caroline had been born to their status; Demelza, like Dwight, had married into it. She was a sympathetic listener, and a helpful one, for she managed Nampara lands in Ross’s absence, and did so better, Dwight felt, than Ross sometimes quite recognised. So he saved his grumblings for Demelza, and she laughed at him and made helpful suggestions and reminded him that he had, after all, _chosen_ to marry Caroline, with all her wealth and property, and must bear the burdens inherent in that choice.

 

“Dare I ask what you and Caroline are plotting?” Dwight asked Demelza, as they reached the track that led up the gentle slope to Nampara, at the crown of the hill. He couldn’t see Demelza’s expression in the dark, but he saw her turn her head to look at him, and he heard the gentle humour in her voice when she responded.

 

“I don’t know rightly know, Dwight,” she said. “Do you dare ask?” Dwight rolled his eyes skyward for a moment and huffed a laugh.

 

“No,” he said. “No, perhaps I don’t. I know there is _something_ going on, though I can’t for the life of me work out what it is. Promise me it’s no mischief, at least. I know what Caroline’s like when she gets an idea into her head. What does she want – for you to persuade Ross to bring you to London for the winter?” It was a common enough request; Caroline suggested it every year to Ross and Demelza, that Demelza should join them in London for some portion of the winter months – the later part, perhaps, after Christmas, or before Christmas entirely. She coaxed Demelza with suggestions of fine London toys for her children, and fine London clothes for herself, but Demelza usually withstood such bribes. Dwight understood well enough why Demelza was content to remain at home. He would be so too, were it not that he had promised Caroline compromise, when they had married. So he joined her for at least a few weeks, when she went to London over the winter, and then was allowed back to Cornwall to tend to his ‘undeserving poor’.

 

“No, no,” laughed Demelza. “Nothing like that. If she wanted me to go to London, she’d tell Ross, not me.”

 

“Then what?” Dwight asked, still curious.

 

Demelza was silent for a time, while they grew closer to the lights of Nampara. Dwight knew her well enough not to press her, particularly when her silence seemed so weighty. In the sky above them, the clouds parted to reveal the waning moon, bright enough to see her frowning a little, as if thinking hard. Then the moon was hidden again, and Demelza’s face likewise.

 

She spoke before they reached the farmyard gate. “I don’t know that you’d rightly call it mischief,” she said slowly. “And ‘tis Caroline’s idea, so I think you did ought to ask her about it.” A lantern approached across the yard; John Gimlett had been watching for her, and he was hurrying to open the gate. “Do ask Caroline,” Demelza added. She turned her horse, bringing it closer to Dwight, and he saw, in the light of the lantern, that she looked nervous. “I should like to know what you think,” she said. “I would like to hear your opinion, once Ross is home. Good night, Dwight.”

 

“Good night,” Dwight murmured. He was more curious than ever, for Demelza’s answer had been little better than silence, and certainly more confusing. He pondered the mystery all the way back to Killewarren, where he found Caroline still preparing for bed, seated at her dressing table and brushing her hair. He took the brush from her and, when she made no objection, took over the task. He loved to brush her hair – to feel the long length of it under his hands, to see how relaxed she grew under his touch. It worked now as it always did; Caroline hummed in pleasure and leaned back in her chair, turning her head obediently so he could brush the sides as well as the back. She was yawning by the time he was done, and Dwight – always aware that he needed every advantage possible with Caroline – seized the opportunity.

 

“Demelza told me to ask you about this scheme you and she are hatching,” he said. “She said she wants my opinion.”

 

Caroline sat upright in her chair and stared at his reflection in the looking glass. “She said – that teasy woman, we agreed we’d not speak of it until Ross was back!” She turned around, snatched the hairbrush from his grasp, and set it down harder than necessary on the table. Dwight raised his eyebrows in surprise, but it wasn’t anger he saw in Caroline’s expression; it was trepidation. She was nervous about what he would think, and seeing that reaction made Dwight pause. It wasn’t like Caroline to be anxious.

 

“I asked her what you and she were up to,” he said quietly, when after a moment Caroline seemed unwilling to say anything further. “She’s betrayed no confidences, Caroline. If you want me to leave it alone for now, I will, of course.”

 

“Oh,” huffed Caroline. “You’re being reasonable. How very provoking of you.”

 

Dwight laughed, and bent over to kiss Caroline’s forehead. “It isn’t meant so, dearest.” Her skin was, as ever, soft and smooth beneath his lips. He could not resist kissing the tip of her nose, and her cheeks, and even a brush of his mouth against her closed eyelids. She had looked lovely tonight – she _always_ looked lovely, but sometimes there was a particular sparkle in her eyes that added an extra element of allure to her being. He marvelled, as he had marvelled for years, that this woman had chosen _him_ for her husband, that she had given up all that she might have had and resigned herself – more or less – to being the wife of a country doctor. Dwight did not think he would ever become complacent about their marriage. He would never forget how much had worked to keep them apart, at the beginning.

 

“I know you don’t mean it to be provoking,” Caroline relented. “But you are, just the same. Now kiss me properly, please, to make up for it.” Dwight obeyed her, of course, bending his head to reach her upturned face. Her lips were dry, but when he dipped his tongue into her mouth, he could taste a little of the port she and Demelza had drunk after supper. He cupped her face in his hands and stroked his thumbs across her cheekbones. He felt her hands grasping at his waistcoat, and then she unfastened the buttons of it, quick and deft, while Dwight moved his kisses from her mouth to her jaw, then her throat, delightfully bared by the collar of her nightgown. Caroline sighed, or hummed, or made some noise that was somewhere in between – a noise that Dwight knew well, the soft sound of her increasing pleasure. He returned to her mouth, her lips, drinking her in, until they were both short of breath.

 

“Bed, my dearest?” Dwight suggested, tenderly. Caroline nodded. Dwight stepped away from her to discard his waistcoat, and Caroline helped him lift his shirt over his head, her hands roaming across his chest in a way that was hardly conducive to undressing him. Dwight clasped hold of her waist and kissed her again, and she pressed up against him, breast to breast and hip to hip. Somehow a hand wriggled between them, Caroline’s hand, plucking at the fastenings of his breeches. Dwight moved her towards the bed, a step forward for every one of hers backwards, and they tumbled down together, a tangle of limbs and clothes. Caroline laughed, until Dwight kissed the laughter away. Then she lay trembling beneath him, grasping his shoulders, her chest heaving. He lifted her nightgown, nudged a leg between her thighs, and broke off kissing her only to pull her nightgown over her head. Her long hair concealed her face from him for a moment, and then she shook it away and smiled up at him.

 

“Dear Dwight,” she said, voice full of affection. Then she sobered, and Dwight, seeing the strange change of mood, shifted on the bed so he was laying beside her, not over her. He moved his hand from her breast to her stomach, her curves so familiar to him after the years of their marriage. Caroline turned onto her side and touched his mouth with her fingertips. “Shall you still look at me so if I confess a fault to you?” she asked wistfully.

 

“I should hope I know all your faults by now,” Dwight teased her. “And I still look at you in a way that seems to please.” But his jest was misplaced, he saw. Caroline was not in a mood to be teased. Dwight looked thoughtfully at her, and was silent for a while. “Is this to do with Demelza?” he asked at last. “With whatever you said you wouldn’t talk about until Ross is home?”

 

“Yes,” said Caroline. “I – I kissed Demelza. And she kissed me.”

 

Caroline had tried to plan this revelation to her husband in the same way she had planned her approach to Demelza, but where she had been clear about how best to proceed with Demelza, she had felt nothing but uncertainty over how best to say to Dwight, to her beloved husband, that she wanted to open them both up to the possibility of more. Subtlety was of little use on Dwight; he knew her too well, and saw through her too easily, for her to try to casually remark on his admiration for Ross, or his devotion to Demelza. Something more straight-forward was, she had known, the only way to admit her wish. But she had not intended to be so blunt, so open, with him. Now he stared at her, mouth agape, his shock clear, and Caroline felt exposed and vulnerable and wretched.

 

“Two kisses do not amount to very much,” she murmured, looking away from him. “But I ought to tell you that I wish to do a great deal more than kiss her.”

 

“Caroline,” said Dwight helplessly. “What are you saying?”

 

The whole thing spilled out then. Caroline’s growing affection for Demelza – _more_ than affection, her love and desire for Demelza – and Demelza’s increasing reciprocity. She told him of her careful approach, the difficult conversation that had occurred, the kisses they had exchanged. She explained her longing for more than passion from Demelza, and from Ross. More than a single night, more than physical intimacy. Dwight was silent all the while, and Caroline did not dare to raise her eyes to see his face, for fear of seeing loathing and betrayal and disgust. She told him everything, and hoped desperately that she would not lose all that she had in the hope of gaining something that was not, after all, _necessary_ to her continuing happiness.

 

When at last there was no more to be said, Caroline closed her eyes and waited for Dwight’s judgement. His hand was still resting on her stomach, but it was like a dead weight, pinning her down but not _touching_ her, not caressing or holding her; merely resting, as if he, or she, or both of them, had turned to stone. It felt as though hours passed, but it could not have been more than a handful of minutes before Dwight spoke.

 

“You’re in love with them,” he said. Caroline nodded. She couldn’t quite work out his feelings, could hear neither censure nor surprise in his tone of voice. She was unused to him being so mysterious to her; usually she could read his every mood from the slightest of tells, from the way his jaw was set or the lightness in his voice. Now she could hear nothing, and dared not open her eyes. “How…” Dwight cleared his throat, and now Caroline heard something. Now she heard the way he fumbled. “How did Demelza…”

 

“She was not without hesitation,” Caroline murmured. “As you’d expect.”

 

“No, I mean – forgive me, Caroline, my thoughts are unsurprisingly rather muddled right now.” Dwight was silent for a long moment. Caroline waited for him to order his thoughts and choose his words, as patiently as she could manage, because she sensed something in him that she had not expected to find, and it made butterflies of hope flutter through her stomach. His hand, still on her belly, began to move. Just a little, just a brush of his thumb, but it was a movement, and Caroline seized on it as a sign. “I mean,” Dwight said, speaking slowly and carefully, “that I...wish to know how she reacted. When you kissed her.”

 

“Oh!” Caroline’s eyes flew open, and she turned her head to see a blush on her husband’s cheeks. “Oh, Dwight,” she said, full of wonder. “You – you’ve thought of it too, haven’t you? Kissing Demelza?” His expression gave her all the answer she needed. “When?” she demanded. “How long have you –,”

 

“Don’t make more of it than it is,” Dwight said, ever cautious. “I…will admit to thinking about it, once or twice. She’s an attractive woman.” Caroline rolled onto her side so she was facing him properly; his hand slid up onto her hip. “But Caroline, what you’re proposing is…it’s…”

 

“T’isn’t decent, as Demelza would say,” Caroline laughed, nearly breathless from giddy hope. “No, no, I know. But you know me, Dwight. I never do things in half measures.” He had not shouted, he had not flung her from the bed. She let that giddy hope blossom into something more solid. Dwight was still here, still touching her, and that was, for the moment, enough to make her feel optimistic. It was enough to make her feel able to tease him again.

 

“No, you never do,” Dwight agreed. He was stroking her hip now, gentle movements of his fingertips against her skin. It was a good sign. “Tell me,” Dwight said, “tell me what it was like. Kissing her.” She could tell that he was trying to sound casual, but there was a kind of urgency underneath it, an urgency that showed in the intentness of his gaze. So, though she was hardly a wordsmith, she tried to give him an answer.

 

“Like – like kissing sunshine,” she said, and smiled at her whimsy. “How poetical that sounds, but it’s true enough. I put my hand like this.” She followed word with action, cupping Dwight’s cheek in her hand. His day-old stubble was rough against her palm. It was a sensation that never failed to send a slight thrill down her spine. “And then I kissed her like this.” She kissed him just as she had kissed Demelza; slow and careful, then a teasing touch of her tongue to his lower lip. Dwight grasped her hip, rocking her towards him. He was half-hard, cock pressing against her mound. Whatever shock he had felt, whatever reservations he might voice in the future – whatever was or was not possible between the four of them – Dwight was finding this arousing. “And then we stopped,” she whispered against his mouth. “She was trembling. I never saw her look the way she looked then.”

 

“Tell me,” Dwight entreated.

 

“Like I’d given her a gift,” Caroline said, trying to put it into words and knowing she was inadequate to the task. “Her mouth was…” She touched Dwight’s lip with her thumb. He kissed the pad of it, and then took her thumb into his mouth, swirling his tongue and sucking at it in just the way he sucked at her nub, when he was bent between her legs using his mouth on her. Caroline inhaled sharply. She could feel her nipples hardening again, and if she moved just a little, she could rub her breasts against Dwight’s bare chest. Dwight’s eyes were dark, full of intent. Caroline licked her lips and lifted a knee, letting Dwight’s leg come between hers. “So wet,” she whispered. “Her lips were wet, and her eyes were so…so wide.”

 

Dwight released her thumb. “And then?” he asked. His voice was rough. Caroline knew that tone; she knew what it meant. And she could feel his cock, hard against her. It felt as though the impossible was becoming possible, as though everything was coming a little bit further into her grasp. Demelza was intrigued, and Dwight was aroused. Perhaps it could all happen. Perhaps she had not reached too high.

 

“The first time was gentle,” Caroline told him. “But then – oh, Dwight, the next kiss…she was so passionate.” She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering it, that second kiss. “You know how full of fire she is,” she murmured, when she opened her eyes again. “Can you imagine it?” Dwight nodded. He pressed his leg higher between hers, up to the apex, so that Caroline had to part her legs wider, but then she could grind down against him, oh, such delicious friction against her quim. “That was all,” she gasped. “That’s all we did – but I wanted more, I wanted to _touch_ her, I wanted – oh!” Dwight had moved his hand over her hip, skimming over the swell of her buttocks and then questing lower, reaching under to find the wet folds of her sex. Caroline arched against him, pressing her breasts closer to his chest. “Yes, like that,” she babbled. “I wanted to touch her – _there_ – and her breasts and I want to hear her –,”

 

“I wonder what she sounds like,” Dwight murmured, almost absently, as he stroked two fingers across Caroline’s sex. He felt as if he were in two places at once; firstly here, with Caroline, making love to her as he had done many times before, and secondly in an imagined elsewhere, where they were joined by another body, another woman. And not just any woman – Demelza Poldark, the woman to whom Dwight owed so much, the woman he had long admired and cherished above any other, excepting only his wife Caroline. He was not given to wild flights of imagination, but he could imagine it now: Caroline on the bed beside him, as she was now, and Demelza behind Caroline, pressed up against Caroline’s back, her hand perhaps working with Dwight’s at Caroline’s sex, stroking through the slickness, the outer lips. Fingers dipping into Caroline’s core, or rubbing at her clit the way Caroline liked. He could imagine kissing Demelza over Caroline’s shoulder, and how Caroline might turn her head to join in, demanding her share of it.

 

Dwight could not help the stutter of his hips, the need to gain friction against his cock too great to be controlled. Caroline’s lips were parted, her eyes a little unfocused, her body moving as involuntarily as his. He slid his fingers through the glorious wet heat of her sex, and then into her core. Caroline moaned, and Dwight kissed her, smothering her sounds with his mouth as he plunged his fingers in as deep as he could, right up to the knuckle. It was an awkward angle; he could not go as deep as he wanted. But deep enough that Caroline was moaning, soft mewls of pleasure that Dwight always loved to hear.

 

What would Demelza sound like, he wondered. He should not think of her that way, of course, and he knew that he would feel guilty, later, for doing so now. But for now he wondered what Demelza would sound like, if she would make soft noises like Caroline or if she would be louder. He thought about the slender line of her neck, her work-roughened hands, her long legs.

 

“I want her to touch me like this,” Caroline panted. She had a hand on his hip, fingers digging into his flesh. Dwight didn’t care; her words were too much fuel to the fire for him to care about what marks she might leave. “Can’t you – _oh_ – can’t you just – picture it –,”

 

“Yes,” Dwight said, the word turning into a hiss as Caroline rubbed herself against him, her wet quim against his thigh, his cock pressed tight between them. He wanted to be in her. He wanted to bury himself in her, to join their separate beings into one. “Up,” he managed to say. “On top of me. Caroline –,” She grasped what he wanted. Dwight let his fingers fall out of her, and wiped them on his cock as he rolled onto his back. Caroline knelt above him, astride him, her long hair falling down across her breasts. Her face was flushed – as flushed as his own must be. She took his cock in one hand and Dwight groaned at the touch, too gentle, not giving him what he wanted. Caroline laughed, barely audible through her breathlessness.

 

“So eager,” she teased.

 

“You know what you do to me,” Dwight retorted.

 

“And what thinking of Demelza does, too,” said Caroline. She guided his cock to her quim, teased him for a moment, and then lowered herself onto him, not slow and teasing now but a firm thrust downwards, until Dwight was seated deep inside her. Dwight flung his head back and grasped handfuls of the sheets, quivering from the effort it took to keep from arching up, from taking hold of her hips and _making_ her move. She’d done that deliberately – mentioned Demelza just as she joined them together. He knew she had; he recognised that glint in her eyes.

 

“Never before,” he said, just as Caroline rolled her hips. Dwight groaned and thrust up against her. “Never before,” he managed to say. “Never – thought about it – her –,”

 

“I know,” said Caroline. She bent over him, reaching out to clasp their hands together. It brought her breasts tantalisingly close, and Dwight lifted his head and licked a broad stripe across her nipple. Caroline shuddered; it went all through her, even her hidden, inner muscles contracted momentarily, squeezing his cock in a way that made him bite back a curse. “I know you never did,” she said, gasping the words out. “But now – now –,”

 

“Yes,” Dwight hissed. “Now – Caroline – _move_ –,”

 

She moved, riding him as if she was riding one of her horses. Her strong thighs lifted her up, and each time she sank down, her breasts came back within Dwight’s reach and he kissed them, or managed a quick suck of a hardened nipple. He loved when they coupled like this, loved seeing her above him, upright and proud. Perhaps he loved it because so much of their early courtship had involved riding together, but the reason hardly mattered. She rose and sank, and he thrust up into her, no finesse or rhythm to it, just the urgent heat of desire bringing them together.

 

Then Caroline began to speak, words gasped out breathlessly but audibly.

 

“Think how different it would be with Demelza here,” she said. “Think of – of her – with us like this – maybe she’d be – _oh_ – maybe she’d be behind me, touching us both –,”

 

“Caroline,” Dwight mumbled. “Let me – hands –,” She released his hands, and Dwight at once grasped hold of her hips, setting a different pace, lifting her and then pulling her down sharply, faster than she had been doing it, the kind of rough pace that would appease the urgency of what he felt now. The whole world narrowed down to this, to his cock inside her, to her breasts snatched again and again from his reach, his hands on her hips. He felt his climax approaching fast. He could not move his hands from her hips, could not seek out that bundle of nerves in her sex that would bring her with him. But Caroline’s hands were now free, and he felt, rather than saw, when she put her fingers to her clit, her hand brushing against his cock as she rode him.

 

“And Ross,” Caroline breathed. Dwight thrust up, flinging his head back, barely sensible of his own reactions. “Ross looks as though – as though he likes to use his mouth –,”

 

“ _Caroline_ –,”

 

“ – think he’d suck your – _oh!_ ”

 

Dwight had pulled her back down onto him, hard and fast, thrusting up so there was nothing between them, pelvis to pelvis. Scrotum tightening, her core contracting around his cock as she peaked too, the two of them tumbling over the edge together. Caroline fell forwards onto Dwight, the change of angle making them both cry out. He sought her mouth to kiss her, found her throat instead and sucked at her pulse while she shuddered and shook, every tiny movement of her orgasm prolonging his own pleasure. And then, at last, she lay still.

 

She was a heavy weight on top of him, anchoring him down into the bed, but Dwight didn’t care. He stroked her back and smoothed her hair and tried not to think about the things Caroline had said. He tried not to think about how he had reacted to her words, and to his own imaginings. He hadn’t denied that he had thought of kissing Demelza, when Caroline had asked him, but those had been occasional, fleeting thoughts. Most men had such thoughts, from time to time – a glance at another woman, an idle fancy of kissing her, impulses or urges that never lasted long and would never be acted upon. It was, Dwight believed, simply a factor of human nature, to admire the unattainable and to entertain brief fantasies. He was happy with Caroline, and could not imagine greater happiness could ever have been his without her, but he was only human. Yes, occasionally he had looked at Demelza and allowed himself a moment of wondering.

 

As for the idea of Caroline and Demelza kissing…Dwight could not, _would not_ deny that he found it arousing. There would be no purpose in attempting a denial when he had already made it plain to Caroline how much it stirred him.

 

What disquieted Dwight most, though, was that final thing Caroline had said. The final thought that had spurred Dwight’s orgasm. His reaction to what Caroline had said about Ross, to what she had said about Ross and Dwight, in that context, was not something Dwight could easily understand, nor easily reconcile with what he knew of his own nature. He had never looked at a man that way, though he had known men who did. He admired Ross, cared for him – loved him, even, as his best and greatest friend – but he had never consciously desired him, if indeed he had done so now, in that moment of climax.

 

Dwight closed his eyes and ran his hand up and down the length of Caroline’s spine. “How am I ever to look either of them in the eye again?” he asked. He did not think she would be able to give him any satisfactory answer, and indeed for a while Caroline said nothing, and continued to lie motionless on top of him. Dwight began to think she would not even attempt to reply, but at last she rolled off him, and reached to pull the blankets over them both.

 

“The same way you always do, dear Dwight,” she said. “By keeping your eyes open and looking at theirs. I dare say you’ll manage it admirably.” She tried to sound flippant, though she did not feel it. She had nudged Dwight into unknown territory, and she knew that he might still react badly. And even if he did not voice distaste and disagreement, even if he acknowledged that he, too, desired Demelza at the very least, and perhaps Ross too – even then, acknowledging desire was an entirely different thing to feeling oneself in love, and with more than one person at a time. She knew that Dwight loved both Ross and Demelza, and yet love came in so many forms. This would not work if they could not all love each other, as well as want each other.

 

“Caroline, be serious,” Dwight admonished. “You have – I feel as though you’ve turned the whole world upside down, and now you seem to have no regard for it.”

 

Caroline turned onto her front, propped herself up on her elbows, and tried not to let Dwight’s frown discourage her.

 

“Of course I do,” she said gently. “You know I do. Forgive me, Dwight. You know – you _must_ know that I do not approach this lightly.” Dwight stared at her for a moment more, but then he nodded once, and his frown eased. Caroline tilted her head a little, tried to read all the facets of his expression. “Are you angry with me?” she asked at last, hating her own uncertainty and her inability to hide it from him. “You know nothing – _nothing_ – makes me happier than you do, and I don’t need more, truly.”

 

“Need,” Dwight murmured thoughtfully. He looked away from her, up at the ceiling. Caroline waited, silently, knowing him too well to hurry him. “No, I’m not angry with you,” he said after a while. “Confused, but not angry.” Caroline inhaled to speak, but then thought better of it. Dwight was still turning it all over in his mind, she knew, and if she spoke now, if she tried to persuade him in any way, he would only worry over it all the more. He would think the whole thing through too thoroughly – he would _brood_ over it until he had found every potential flaw, every weakness in her scheme. Caroline was sure he would think of no problem that she had not already foreseen, but it would do no good to anticipate Dwight’s objections. “Are you truly in love with them both?” Dwight asked eventually. “Not just love – I know you love them both, as I do, but…in love.”

 

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Caroline looked down at her hands and noted, absently, that her knuckles were white from how tightly she was clasping them together. “But all you need do is say no, and I shall forget about it. I have hurt you enough, in the past, without adding more now.” Dwight said nothing, offered no denial of the truth that they had long ago put aside as history best forgotten, but he reached out to cover her hands with his. She grasped hold of him, clinging to that offered comfort. “I promised as much to Demelza,” she went on. “It shan’t hurt me, if any one of you say no. I am – _completely_ happy with you, Dwight. You mustn’t…you musn’t think anything else.”

 

“But you think you could have more happiness with this.”

 

“Not more, precisely,” Caroline said cautiously. “But different.” She pressed a kiss to Dwight’s knuckles, a mute plea for forgiveness and acceptance. Dwight heaved a sigh and reached up to kiss her mouth, a gentle and familiar kiss that Caroline was happy to receive. Then he took his hand from hers and tugged her into his arms. She hooked a leg over his, rested her cheek on his chest, and felt herself begin to relax again as Dwight held her close.

 

“And Demelza’s opinion?” he inquired, his tone a little lighter now, as if he had – at least for now – moved on from the issue of Caroline’s happiness and begun to think more widely. “What does she say about it all? I cannot imagine she would agree without Ross – not after all they’ve been through.”

 

“No, she has not agreed. As you say, she waits for Ross.” Caroline took a deep breath, inhaling Dwight’s scent, and then released it. “But she seems not opposed to the idea in principle. She certainly responded well enough to –,” She broke off, feeling her cheeks heat unexpectedly. There was no reason for it; she had, after all, described both kisses in detail to Dwight. She had stoked his desire with it, and her own. And yet somehow it seemed too intimate to speak of again, now that those two kisses were joined, in her memory, by her intercourse with Dwight. She would never again be able to remember those kisses, Caroline realised, without also thinking of this evening, of these past minutes in bed with Dwight.

 

And that was what she wanted. She wanted to think of them all together, to love them _all_ : Dwight and Demelza and Ross, all together, the lines blurred between them. Caroline felt almost breathless at how close it seemed, how _possible_ it might be. Closer than ever before, for Dwight’s responses had shown her that there was a chance. She must be careful with Dwight, now. So careful. But there was a chance.

 

“Yes,” said Dwight dryly. “Yes, so I gather. And…for me?” There was something tentative about his question. The answer, Caroline perceived, was more important to him than he would like. So she considered her words carefully before speaking, aware that Dwight was leaning in her favour but not wanting to give him any false hope.

 

“She said nothing to indicate she does not, or could not, love you in a new way,” she said at last. “She is, I think, too cautious to give her heart to anyone again without Ross’s full knowledge and consent.” Dwight hummed, and Caroline was compelled by a mischievous urge to add: “Perhaps you ought to kiss her, and see.”

 

“Caroline!” But he was laughing, despite his protest – a chuckle that reverberated in his chest, a sound that Caroline felt as much as heard.

 

“Well, you ought to find out sooner rather than later if you and she have even the chance of strong feelings,” she said, teasing him now, sure of her footing where before she had been hesitant. “Ross returns in a fortnight, after all, and it would be so nice to be able to forestall all his arguments, don’t you think?”

 

“You are the most exasperating of women,” Dwight exclaimed. “And what do you imagine I could say to begin such a conversation? Demelza, my dear friend, I gather you’ve been embracing my wife, may I join you?”

 

Caroline lifted her head to look at him. He was still smiling; Caroline met his eyes and then began to laugh. Dwight joined her, in laughter that was as much a release of tension as it was of mirth, and for a minute or two they laughed together. When at last they were both sober again, they settled into a comfortable silence that Caroline was loathe to break. She knew that Dwight would need more time to think, that pushing him now would not aid her. So she stayed silent, relaxed in his arms. She yawned once or twice, and indeed was halfway asleep when Dwight spoke again.

 

“I do not think of Ross that way,” he said, so quietly that it took her a moment to register that he had spoken. “Or at least,” he went on, “I never have done before. And I’m certain he’s never thought of me, or any man. That…that isn’t something that can be manufactured from thin air, you know.”

 

“I know,” said Caroline, barely louder than he. “I know that, Dwight.”

 

“You must give me time to think about this,” he said, almost as if she hadn’t spoken. “May I ask that you say nothing to Ross, when he returns, until I have thought it over?” Caroline had no qualms about promising that she would say nothing until Dwight was ready, and nothing at all if he decided he could not see any way of learning how to desire Ross, to love him in a new way. She gave him her word at once, and Dwight pressed a kiss to her head and thanked her. “Though we’re not likely to see either Ross or Demelza for some time,” he added. “It’s a busy time of year for them.” Caroline opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a yawn. Dwight chuckled a little, and nudged her off him so he could reach out and snuff the candles. “Sleep well, my dear,” he said, and they settled down together to sleep.

 

It was not, as it turned out, as long as Dwight had anticipated before he saw either of the Nampara Poldarks again. Four days before Ross was due to return, a message came to Killewarren saying that young Master Jeremy had been kept home from school because he’d been abed with a fever for a day and a night, and none of Mistress Poldark’s remedies were working, so would Dr Enys please come directly. Dwight spared not even a moment to tell Caroline he was going out, for Demelza was always anxious whenever Jeremy was ill. Unlike all three of his sisters, the two living and the one dead, Jeremy had always been less than robust, and though he had mostly grown out of it, he still suffered from more than his fair share of common ailments. The spectre of Julia hung about Demelza whenever any of her children ailed, despite her common sense, and for her sake Dwight always attended Jeremy promptly when the boy was ill, no matter how ordinary the complaint.

 

This time it became obvious quite quickly why Demelza was fearful: Jeremy had a sore throat as well as a fever. But Dwight examined him, and listened to Jeremy’s complaints of an aching head and a cough, and concluded that the sore throat was most likely the result of coughing, not anything more sinister.

 

“Bed for a few more days,” he said to the boy, who sighed heavily but made no complaint. “Plenty of hot milk with honey,” Dwight instructed Demelza, who stood hovering in the doorway, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her. “And a few days of rest. Keep him warm and make sure he drinks – if he doesn’t want his food, that won’t matter much if he drinks enough milk with honey.” Demelza nodded and went to relay his orders to the kitchen. Dwight stayed with Jeremy for a few minutes longer, double-checking his throat because he, too, was often haunted by those he had failed to save, but then he went downstairs and joined Demelza in the parlour.

 

“A perfectly normal cold,” he told her gently. “He’s grown out of his earlier frailness, but you know how these things still strike him down, out of all proportion.”

 

“Thank you,” said Demelza. She stood at the fireplace, still clasping her hands together. He felt an unexpected urge to step towards her and try to offer her some further reassurance – and to comfort her in a way that went beyond that he might offer her as a doctor, and perhaps even beyond the bounds of friendship, too. He wanted to take her hands in his, to reassure her that there was no reason to be concerned. It was quite unaccountable. He had thought so much about what Caroline had told him, the other night, though it had not yet settled into place in his mind. He had come to no decision. Yet he clearly felt _something_ – whether because Caroline had prompted him to feel so or not – because now Dwight had to restrain himself from offering more comfort than was appropriate.

 

“I know I worry too much,” Demelza added, “and I try not to, when Ross is at home – he doesn’t like for me to worry over Jeremy so much. But it’s a – a habit, I suppose.”

 

“We all have bad habits,” said Dwight. He still wanted to go to her. He did not fully understand why – or perhaps, he reflected wryly, he simply did not _want_ to understand why – but he wanted it, nonetheless. “Truly, Demelza,” he went on, “I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t mean it, but Jeremy is so much stronger than he was even a few years ago. By the time he’s fifteen, I dare say he’ll be as hearty as any other lad.”

 

“I think the school looks after him none too well,” Demelza said, making a face. Dwight smiled, and shrugged his shoulders. The sons of gentlemen – the daughters, too – went away to school, but though Jeremy was in his second year of attending Truro Grammar school, Demelza had still not reconciled herself to it. Ross had, Dwight knew, put his foot down when Jeremy had turned twelve. Jeremy must go to school, and he must not go later than his contemporaries. So Jeremy had become a weekly boarder, and Demelza at least had him for most of Saturday and Sunday, as well as holidays. He was not on the other side of the county, or even further afield. Dwight knew that was some comfort for her, though he knew that she missed Jeremy almost as much as she missed Ross.

 

And now Demelza laughed, as if she knew what Dwight was thinking, and spread her hands, as if to say she could not be other than what she was. “That, too, I cannot say to Ross,” she admitted. “He says the school is excellent, so I keep my small worries to myself. But I can admit that I do get so lonesome without my menfolk.”

 

Dwight tried to keep smiling, to keep conceal any sign of what thoughts sprang into his mind at her words, but he must have failed, for after a moment Demelza’s laughter faded as she looked at him. She stood quite still beside the fireplace, growing solemn as she looked at him, her sharp eyes glancing over his expression. Dwight couldn’t be sure what she saw, and her long, perceptive glance made him shift his weight from one foot to another, and clear his throat. He couldn’t meet her eyes; he looked away, around the parlour, absently noting the fresh flowers on the table, the mending basket beside Demelza’s rocking chair, and the cat asleep on the windowsill. He looked at anything to avoid looking at her.

 

“Caroline told you,” Demelza said at last, quite softly. There was no fear in her voice, but Dwight could not think that she was entirely unafraid.

 

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Yes, she…she told me.” He had to look at her now, needing to see her reaction. Demelza was flushed, bright colour in the cheeks that were normally so pale, her eyes downcast, as if she expected him to be upset, or perhaps even angry.

 

Dwight felt that he had been balanced on the edge of a precipice ever since Caroline had told him her idea. On one side there was the safety, the comfortableness of the established routines and relationships. There was no risk there, beyond the ordinary risks of life. If Dwight leaned that way, he could foresee, to an extent, how his future would unfold. Happiness in his marriage to Caroline; the love of their young daughter, and perhaps more children to come; a continued striving against the illnesses of the district, and conceivably a widening of his work in the form of the doctors he knew in London. If Dwight went the other way, he would still have all of that. His marriage to Caroline might change in subtle or substantial ways, but that might happen anyway, as it already had in the natural course of life. And in addition to that, in addition to his known and familiar happiness, there would be something else. There would be risk, and uncertainty, and there would be the chance of heartbreak. There would be the unknown journey into an attraction that Dwight was not sure was possible, to Ross. For over a week, ever since that evening when Demelza had come to dine at Killewarren, Dwight had been turning the thing over in his mind, trying and failing to come to some sort of conclusion.

 

But here, now, seeing Demelza blushing, seeing how she seemed braced for some angry remark, Dwight found that he could only make one choice, after all. He closed the gap between them in a few short steps, and took hold of her hands as he’d wanted to earlier. Demelza gasped, and lifted her eyes to his.

 

“She told me,” Dwight said again. “I – you will imagine my surprise.” Demelza nodded mutely. Dwight hesitated, not sure how best to continue. He had decided, but not yet committed. But that, he realised, was something that none of them could do yet – not him, not Demelza, not even Caroline. Because nothing could be begun without Ross, and Ross was not yet returned from London. And even then, even if Ross agreed to this insanity…even then, Dwight could not _commit_ without knowing more about this seed of curiosity that Caroline had planted in him. He cared for Demelza, and could allow himself to want her. Ross was a different matter, and he and Dwight would have to face that obstacle before anything could progress further.

 

With that in mind, Dwight managed a smile for Demelza, and he squeezed her hands before letting them go. “It would be my wife, would it not, who came up with such an idea?” he said. “How unconventional she can be at times.”

 

“Yes,” Demelza murmured. “Yes, she can be. She and Ross are alike in that way. Kindred spirits, you might say.” She turned away from him, a hand fluttering to rest at her breast. “She told you I will do nothing without Ross?” she questioned.

 

“Yes,” Dwight nodded. “Yes, and I…there are things I must think about, too. Before anything is…decided.” Demelza gave him another assessing look, a sharp glance at him that seemed to give her some understanding of his state of mind, for she nodded slowly.

 

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, we all have much to think about.” Then she smiled, and held out her hand. “Thank you for coming to see for Jeremy,” she said. Dwight bent over her hand and kissed it, accepting the dismissal with good grace. “We shall see you soon,” Demelza added. “You must both come over for supper in a few weeks. When Ross is home and settled. Once the wheat is in.”

 

“In a few weeks,” Dwight agreed. “Send word whenever you like.” He hesitated for a moment, deliberating, and then he stepped back, clearing his throat. “Hot milk and honey, for Jeremy,” he said. “Send for me again if he doesn’t improve.”  

 

Demelza watched him go, too confused to walk him out as she would under normal circumstances. She was glad, of course, that Dwight was not upset, that he was not disgusted with her or Caroline, or angry at the betrayal of those two kisses that she and Caroline had shared. Part of her was glad, too, that he seemed not averse to this strange, indecent thing that Caroline was proposing. Demelza had had time enough to think on it, and had come to the conclusion that, while she did not understand all of the implications of Caroline’s suggestion, she was not opposed to the idea of she, and Caroline, and Ross and Dwight, all forging some new relationship together. If Ross agreed, if Ross could see it in the way Caroline had put it to Demelza – not as a betrayal, not as infidelity, but as a joint venture – then Demelza would be willing to try.

 

And yet somehow these last few minutes with Dwight, the way he had looked at her and clasped her hands, made her feel more unfaithful to Ross than she had after kissing Caroline. In part, Demelza supposed, it was because Dwight was a man, and Caroline a woman. But also it was because kissing Caroline had been…not quite spontaneous, but an instant, unpredictable urge. Caroline had asked, and Demelza had been reeling from all that Caroline had said, and she had agreed to it. Then after, when she had kissed Caroline again, that had been an urgent want. So urgent, in fact, that Demelza had felt almost frightened by it, and had needed to withdraw, to put that boundary of Ross’s absence between them. It had been a boundary that Caroline had seemed to understand, to respect, and Demelza had been satisfied that those two kisses, in isolation, did not constitute a betrayal. Anything further, she had felt – even with just Caroline – would be a different matter.

 

She had been startled, though not entirely surprised, that Dwight had seen that Caroline had been plotting something. Dwight knew Caroline too well to be oblivious to any changes in her behaviour, and he knew Demelza, too. If Dwight had said nothing, Demelza would have volunteered nothing, for she’d meant what she said to Caroline, that she would not do anything more without Ross. But Dwight _had_ spoken, and so Demelza had sent him to Caroline for answers, knowing she could not lie to Dwight but certain that, whatever Caroline shared with him, Demelza would not see Dwight again until Ross had been home for at least a few days. She had not anticipated Jeremy’s illness, and even when he had first come in from the garden with a running nose, she had not imagined that he might need anything more than a posset and a good night’s sleep. When her own home remedies had proven fruitless, and when Jeremy had developed a sore throat, Demelza had sent to Dwight without even thinking about what he might or might not have been told by Caroline.

 

But then in the parlour, he had looked at her as if…as if he was seeing her for the first time. And then he’d taken her hands; an innocent enough gesture, but loaded with meaning. Perhaps Dwight had sensed that it was too much, for he’d stepped back quickly, but the action could not be undone, and it had felt…so very far from innocent. It was, it _must_ be, because Dwight was a man, Demelza decided. She had no cause to feel as she did, and she was determined to set aside her sense of guilt. When Ross was home, when she found some way of telling him Caroline’s plan – then Demelza would allow herself to feel guilty, if Ross rejected the idea. Until then, she would concentrate on other things, on the ordinary tasks and routines of her life.

 

It was not a difficult thing for her to do; there was endless work on the farm, at this time of year, besides the usual day-to-day chores. Four days fairly flew by, with Demelza sparing barely a thought for Caroline or Dwight. On the fifth day, made late by his stagecoach breaking down somewhere in Devon, Ross arrived home. He arrived just in time for dinner and, before Demelza could do more than speak a greeting, he was duly mobbed by two young daughters eager for their father’s attention. Between the children and Ross’s desire to visit Wheal Grace, Demelza scarcely had a minute alone with Ross for the rest of the day – not long enough for more than brief embraces, snatched moments that were not enough to satisfy Demelza, after three long months apart. But at last the afternoon and early evening were over, Bella and Clowance put to bed, and Demelza had Ross all to herself. He suggested they retire early to bed and Demelza, both longing for him and dreading the conversation that she must have with him tonight before she could lose her nerve, made no objection.

 

Ross pulled her close almost as soon as the door was closed behind them, pausing only to take off his boots, and when he clasped hold of her, Demelza closed her eyes and nuzzled his neck, inhaling his scent. He put his hands on her waist; she had a sudden, vivid memory of when Caroline had done the same. It made her shiver, it made something flutter in her stomach, but she could not tell if it was desire or trepidation. Ross must have thought it was the former, for he used his grasp of her waist to lift her and spin them both around around, taking her closer to the bed.

 

“You weigh next to nothing,” he said. “What have you been eating while I was gone, clouds and starlight?” Then he kissed her, and Demelza tangled her fingers in his hair and let his questing tongue part her lips. Their first proper kiss since his return, deeper and more passionate than the chaste exchanges they had managed earlier, warm and familiar and full of love. She had been so very aware of him, all afternoon, and now she could let that awareness become more. Now she could succumb to the way her pulse quickened and her breasts grew heavy, now she could feel a tingling sensation wherever he touched her.

 

And yet, if she did…if she made love with Ross and _then_ told him about Caroline…no, she could not do that. She would not. So Demelza put a hand on Ross’s chest and gently nudged him away.

 

“Ross,” she said, “I must tell you something.” Ross was not so easily deterred. One of his hands slipped around and down, finding her bottom, and Demelza squeaked. “Ross!” She recognised the glint in his eyes, and though normally she would welcome it – encourage it, even, alone in their bedroom as they were – now she knew she must not be drawn into it. Despite her own desire, she must make Ross listen to her, or her guilt, whether real or imagined, would lie too heavily on her. “Ross, you must – ohhh.” He had pulled her close again and lowered his mouth to her neck, grazing his teeth across the sensitive skin there. Demelza’s knees seemed to weaken; Ross knew all her vulnerable spots, and knew just how and where to kiss and lick and tease. “Ross,” she murmured, clutching at his shoulders. Oh, she had missed him, as she always did when he went away. And it was always so gratifying to find, when he returned, that his passion for her was still as strong as it had been when he left. Though he’d never given her cause for concern, she knew well enough that he had plenty of opportunities, in London, to satisfy himself. Yet he always returned seeming eager to resume their marital relations, and Demelza had only ever needed to postpone such a resumption if his return coincided with her monthly courses.

 

“Ross,” she protested feebly, “Ross, I _must_ talk to you.”

 

“Can’t it wait?” Ross mumbled. His words hummed against her skin; he kissed his way up her throat, to her jaw, her mouth. “I find I have an urgent need to remind myself of the way you taste.” He did not mean her mouth, or her skin, and Demelza reacted despite herself, a shudder running through her body at the thought of him between her legs, his tongue working at her quim. The thought made her breath hitch, made her press her thighs together – as if that could offer her any relief. Ross laughed against her mouth, and reached down to begin to pull up her skirts.

 

“No,” Demelza said, shaking her head, turning away from his kiss and pushing aside his questing hands. “No, Ross, I fear it cannot wait.” Something in her voice seemed to give him pause. Ross lifted his head and looked at her closely, and Demelza allowed the inspection without complaint.

 

“What is it?” Ross asked at last, not seeming satisfied with whatever he gleaned from her expression. “The children? Are they –,”

 

“They’re fine,” she hastened to reassure him. “Hale and thriving, as you saw. Jeremy had a cold last week, but he came brave and went back to school on Tuesday…no, ‘tis something else. Something that Caroline suggested.” Ross inhaled to say something, but Demelza put her fingers to his lips, and he obligingly remained silent. “Let me speak, Ross, please? And please don’t be angry with me. Nor with Caroline, nor – oh, I am making a muddle of this.” She took a deep breath, and then smoothed her hands down Ross’s shoulders and forced herself to step away from him. “I will try to explain it the way she did,” she said.

 

Ross listened with an increasing sense of incredulity as Demelza – falteringly, and with colour rising in her cheeks – related to him a proposition that had been put to her some weeks before by their good friend, Caroline. He could scarcely understand what he was hearing, and only the knowledge that Demelza would never, _ever_ jest about such a thing made it even remotely possible for him to believe her to be in earnest. Nor could he think that Caroline could be perpetuating some cruel hoax on Demelza, for he knew Caroline would never jeopardise her own happiness, nor Demelza’s, for something as trivial as a joke – even supposing she was capable of something so cruel, which Ross knew she was not. And yet what Caroline had proposed, as Demelza relayed it to him, was so far beyond the bounds of ordinary thought, so far beyond the ordinary fancies and imaginings that any human being was subject to, that he struggled to comprehend it.

 

He was silent while Demelza spoke, both from his own shock and because he could see that this was, to her, an unburdening of some emotion that she had carried alone for some time, while he had been gone. But at last she stopped speaking. She dropped onto her dressing stool as if she was a puppet whose strings had been cut, as if the effort of her speech had worn her out physically. Ross took the opportunity to turn away from her, to scrub a hand across his face and to take a moment to try to formulate his response. It wasn’t easy. He hadn’t for an instance dreamed that anything more momentous would be waiting to greet him, on his return to Cornwall, than perhaps Clowance losing another of her milk teeth.

 

He took too long; Demelza spoke again.

 

“You see why I could not write to you about it, Ross?” she asked him, her anxiety evident in her voice. “How could I possibly – how _could_ I have written such things?” When Ross glanced back at her, she looked near to tears. It loosened his tongue, though he wasn’t sure if anything he was thinking or feeling would keep her from crying.

 

“Of course I see,” he said, and had to clear his throat. “Of course. You couldn’t put it in a letter. But – damn it all, Demelza, even if I could believe what you say Caroline wants, it all seems to have been worked up behind my back, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all!” Now that the first shock was over, his temper was rising, his anger and that old, despised jealousy that he had thought was set aside forever. The idea of Demelza with another, with _any_ other, instinctively made him feel as he had before, over Hugh Armitage. Jealousy and anger and a sense of betrayal, once again. But that wasn’t all he felt. Underneath those unhappy feelings was something else. The idea of Demelza with another made him jealous, yes – but the idea of her with Caroline inspired more than jealousy in him, and he was disquieted by how much he was intrigued by the idea of his two closest female companions embracing each other, kissing each other.

 

“That is precisely what we have _not_ done,” Demelza protested. “Nothing – _nothing_ has happened except what I said, and I’ve told you now the very moment I had a chance!” He could not deny that, at least, but he shook his head at the idea that nothing had happened, that she could so easily sweep aside the fact that she had allowed another to embrace her, allowed another to begin to engage her affections.

 

“You said you kissed her,” he said, unable to keep the accusation from her voice. “And that you begin to feel more than friendship. You tell me that is nothing?”

 

“No, of course not –,”

 

“And Dwight knows of this scheme too, you say,” Ross went on, “so what, pray, am I to think other than that you have all backed me into a corner in the hope that I’ll sanction some debauchery of the kind very few of even the most lecherous in London would think?”

 

Demelza rose. She looked pale in the candlelight. The tears that had shone in her eyes were gone now, blinked away, and her expression was bleaker for it, desperately unhappy, strain clear around her eyes and mouth.

 

“Perhaps it’s as you say, Ross,” she said, very quietly. “But I never meant it so, and if you speak to Caroline, she will tell you I said I would do nothing that might cause us harm. If you can’t believe that, then all we’ve built these last years…all of that is for nothing after all.” She turned away from him, crossed the room to the door and had her hand upon the latch before Ross understood that she intended to leave the room. He sprang forward, covered her hand with his own and stopped her from lifting the latch.

 

“Don’t,” he ordered roughly. “Don’t go.” Demelza wouldn’t meet his eyes, kept her gaze lowered, but she didn’t protest when he took her hand away from the door and clasped it in his own. Ross looked down at her, at the familiar features of his beloved wife and friend, and wondered what could have possessed Caroline to suggest such a thing. Despite his own harsh, hasty words just a moment before, he thought he understood from Demelza that Caroline did, in fact, want more than a simple physical act. But he almost felt as if a proposal of a night or two of indecent sexual relations between the two couples might be easier to stomach than the idea of allowing even such close friends as Dwight and Caroline into his marriage in the way that Caroline seemed to have suggested.

 

“Don’t go,” he said again. “I’m sorry. Forgive my anger. I – I am taken aback by the whole thing, and…” Demelza said nothing, and Ross tried again. “Of course I don’t truly think you all meant to go around behind my back. You, least of all. Demelza, you have my wholehearted trust, and you must – you _must_ know that by now.”

 

She lifted her eyes to meet his, and smiled tremulously. “I hope I know it,” she murmured. “Will you forgive me for how it _seems_ we were doing that? Plotting behind your back? Truly, Ross, I would never have agreed to anything of the sort.” Ross nodded, and lifted her hand so he could press a kiss to her knuckles. “Likely I’ve not explained it well,” Demelza added. “Caroline had such a way…”

 

“I think I understand what she proposed to you, but I’ll speak to Caroline at the earliest possible opportunity, I assure you,” Ross said dryly. “And Dwight too.”

 

“Don’t rush to it,” Demelza said. “I’ve had weeks to think of it – and Caroline too – and though Dwight’s only heard a few days ago, t’wouldn’t be fair for you to – to –,”

 

“To go over there full of anger and confront the pair of them about the harm they could have done to my marriage?” Ross suggested teasingly. He could find levity now, when a few moments before it had been entirely out of his grasp. Demelza’s brittleness, when she’d said that if he couldn’t believe her then the last few years of rebuilding their relationship had been for naught, had shaken him out of the initial anger and suspicion. And once those uglier emotions had faded away, it was easier to nudge the tone of their conversation towards something lighter. “I make no promises.”

 

“Nay, Ross, truly –,” Demelza began, either not hearing or not heeding his tone of voice.

 

Ross silenced her by leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her mouth. Demelza was still for a few moments, and then she softened and clutched at his hands, parting her lips to let his tongue dip in to taste her. Words were not always Ross’s strength, but this – this connection between them – had always spoken far more honestly than any words he could manage to find. He released her hands to gather her into his arms, holding her slender frame against him and deepening the kiss. Demelza clung to him, pressed closer to him, and the desire that had been subdued by her news began to make itself known again. Whatever else, he thought, they must not lose this. His ardour for her had never waned throughout their married life, though there had been times when their intercourse had been more infrequent. He had been distracted from her by his first love for a while, once, and there had been a time when he had been less willing to heed his body’s call for her, angry over her feelings for Hugh Armitage, but never had Ross not _wanted_ her. And now, though she had set his mind whirling with her admission of Caroline’s scheme, he still wanted Demelza. He still wanted to be reunited with her, body and soul, after an absence that often felt far longer than it truly was.

 

“Let us set it aside for tonight,” he murmured against her lips. “Whatever happens, whatever we decide, it can wait for another day. For now, I still need to remind myself of your taste.”

 

Demelza rubbed her nose against his. “As long as you’re not angry with me,” she said softly. “I never can bear it when you’re angry with me.”

 

“I’m not angry with you,” Ross said. “I cannot begin to tell you all I’ve thought and felt since we came into our bedroom this evening, but at the very least I can say that I am not angry with you.” He smiled at her, irrepressibly boyish for a moment, and Demelza’s worries were eased by the sight of it. “Can you not feel how little anger I have?” he teased, using his hands on her waist to press her against him. She could feel the line of his cock beneath his trousers – not as hard as he had been before she had spoken of Caroline’s plan, but his enthusiasm was clear nonetheless.

 

“I can feel something,” she said archly. She thought that perhaps the subject ought not be dropped so quickly, for she knew that Ross was, as he said, thinking and feeling a great deal about what she had related to him in the past quarter of an hour. But she knew too that he had a point about how the thing looked to him: how it seemed that she, Caroline and Dwight had been conspiring to give Ross no way to refuse. It was not how it had happened, and Demelza thought that Ross accepted that, but she was wary of prolonging a discussion. She had a sense that it might seem as though she was working on him in some way, coaxing or persuading him into agreeing against his own wishes. Such a thing was farthest from her intention, but she dreaded even the perception of it. All along she had said to Caroline that she would do nothing without Ross’s full consent; that  could not be hurried. Knowing Ross as she did, she thought that he would likely take some time to think the thing over, both privately on his own and through conversation with her. Speaking further tonight would do nothing to hasten his conclusion.

 

So she let him change the subject, and let him reawaken her own physical urges. She rolled her hips against him, and Ross groaned. Demelza felt it as much as heard it, her palms flat against his chest, only his thin shirt separating her from his skin. She could feel, too, how his cock swelled, the press of it against her abdomen delicious. Demelza’s body responded, nipples hardening beneath her stays and a pulse of desire between her legs.

 

“My love,” Ross murmured. He bent his head and kissed her neck. Demelza closed her eyes and let her head fall to one side as he kissed and sucked and licked at the place where throat met shoulder. “Have I mentioned yet how I missed you?”

 

“No,” said Demelza, breath catching in her throat. Ross’s grasp on her waist firmed, and he lifted her up and carried her the few paces to the bed. She laughed as he tumbled her down, a mess of clothes and hair, elbows and knees. Ross laughed too, but he was busy despite his laughter, grasping handfuls of her skirt and petticoat and hauling them up. He was single-minded in his quest, not stopping until her legs were bared to him. Then he paused, and gazed at her. Demelza blushed under it, though his eyes were fixed more upon her face than elsewhere, and though they had been married for long enough that she ought to be used to his appraisal.

 

“I cannot think of a single day when I did not miss you,” Ross said eventually. “The time passes quickly enough when I’m away, at least when I’m actually in the House, but so often I find myself wishing to say something to you, or to hear your opinion on something, and writing a letter is never an adequate substitute.”

 

“Oh, Ross,” Demelza murmured. There was nothing else she could say; her heart was too full for words.

 

“And of course,” Ross went on, “I missed _this_ , too.” He slid his hands up her legs, over her stockings and garters, up onto the bare flesh of her thighs. Demelza parted her legs for him, and Ross settled between them, kneeling on the bed. She was still dressed, he had only shed waistcoat and boots, but she couldn’t bring herself to protest. Not when he slipped two fingers past the rough curls of her mound. She was already wet, and his fingers glided easily across the outer lips of her quim and then into her core. She inhaled sharply, a gasping breath, and her hips moved almost without conscious thought, lifting up to try to take more of him inside her. Ross chuckled softly and gave her a little of what she wanted, sliding his fingers out of her core and then back in, delving a little deeper, the knuckle of his thumb brushing against her nub. “And I can see you’ve missed me,” he teased.

 

“Of course I missed you,” she said. She propped herself up on her elbows and offered a smile to match his. “I always miss you.” He rubbed his thumb more deliberately against her nub, and it made her shudder. Her heart was beating wildly, and she spared a moment to wish she’d been able to take off her shirt and stays, for her breasts felt heavy and restricted, her nipples painfully hard beneath the confinement. But Ross seemed determined, and Demelza doubted that he would give her enough time to undress before continuing with his stated desire. She circled her hips, up into his touch, and flung back her head when he stroked his thumb over her nub once, twice, again and again, teasing her by changing angle and pressure at random. “Ross,” she gasped. “Ross, Ross…”

 

“Shh, love,” Ross murmured, and he ceased the small movements of his thumb. He withdrew his fingers and then leaned forward, reaching out, offering his hand to her. She opened her mouth to suck at his two damp fingers, tasting herself. His eyes were dark, glinting in the candlelight, and Demelza felt the familiar thrill of knowing that she was the one who made him look like that. She licked his fingers clean while Ross gazed at her, his lips parted, his chest heaving, his visible hunger feeding her own.

 

“I thought,” she murmured, when she released his fingers, “that you were the one wanting a taste. I’m sure _I_ can’t taste a difference, but maybe –,” She broke off with a squeak as Ross put his hands under her thighs and lifted her legs, her pelvis, hooking her legs over his shoulders and bringing her sex tantalisingly close to his mouth. The manoeuvre made her fall off her elbows, shoulders and head bouncing down onto the mattress; the angle made her helpless, unable to do anything but wait for him to act. Demelza knew it was a deliberate move on his part, and that knowledge made her feel shivery with anticipation. His breath was hot against the wet folds of her quim, and then cold when he deliberately blew a puff of air at her.

 

“Comfortable?” he inquired. Demelza bit back a curse. Ross chuckled, and _oh_ , that felt delicious, the movement of air against her exposed sex. “Good,” he said, “for I mean to pursue a thorough investigation.”

 

A moment later his mouth was on her, his tongue delving into her core, nose bumping against her nub. Demelza moaned, the sound torn from her throat, and she tried to arch up into him but, of course, he had put her in a position that provided her with no leverage, no ability to move into his touches. And oh, how he teased; his clever tongue first thrusting into her, then licking across her whole quim, drinking her in. His nose rubbed quite deliberately against her nub, offering pressure but never enough to do more than inflame. Her desire grew inexorably, her breath coming in panting gasps, her hips moving uselessly to try to make him do more, to delve deeper into her core with his tongue, or else to leave her core entirely and turn his attention to her throbbing nub. Demelza couldn’t ask for it, couldn’t form words, but she moaned and whimpered her pleasure, and when at last he set his lips to her nub and sucked, _hard_ , it tipped her over the edge almost instantly. Gasping for air, she reached her peak and writhed helplessly from the force of it.

 

Ross kept her in place, and he kept working at her; leaving her nub as the last shudders of the climax began to fade, he delved into her core again, licking inside as if she was some delectable treat that he could not resist.

 

“Please,” Demelza managed to pant out, “please, Ross – Ross – _ohh_!” Ross had returned to her nub, swirling and fluttering his tongue around that most sensitive of places. She climaxed again, her muscles spasming, her vision going hazy. She shuddered and shook and crashed into it, and at last lay boneless on the bed, her legs held up only by Ross’s firm, steady grasp.

 

Then Ross lowered her legs and surged up the bed to kiss her. “Wanted to do that for three months,” he muttered against her lips. “My God, the way you taste.” Demelza hummed, almost a purr, from deep in her throat, and then sighed a little when Ross mouthed at her neck. She was, Ross saw, too thoroughly sated to move. The sight of her like this, languid and lazy, was so incongruous to her character that it always made him feel a deep sense of tenderness towards her; as if, devoid of her usual energy and activity, her whole heart was revealed for him to see. It was not that he thought she withheld her heart from him in the normal course of the day, but still there was always a part of Demelza that he would never know, and it was in times like this that he felt he saw _all_ of her, even if he could not, perhaps, comprehend or communicate the sight. But seeing it, seeing her softness and her openness, made his heart swell with love and affection, and had he reached his own climax, he would gladly have laid down on the bed beside her and enjoyed their closeness.

 

But he had not yet peaked. His cock was hard and heavy between his legs, arousal coursing through his body, demanding some release. Ross fumbled with his breeches and shoved them aside just enough to expose his cock to the air.

 

“Demelza,” he rasped. Demelza’s eyes shone in the candlelight. She nodded at him, spread her legs a little wider and tugged her skirts higher about her waist. Ross needed no further assent; he took himself in hand, guided the head of his cock to her entrance, and then slid into the delicious heat of her core. He groaned, and Demelza made a breathy sound, her hips twitching a little. Ross held still for a moment, watching her unfocused eyes and parted lips, and luxuriating in the feeling of being inside her again, after a three months’ separation that had dragged far more slowly than he liked.

 

“Too much,” she said raggedly. “Ross – please –,”

 

“Fast?” Ross offered. She nodded, and her hips moved again, just a slight movement, but enough to cause her muscles to contract a little around his cock. “God,” he groaned. “Sweetheart –,” It was too much for him, as well as for her – she was clearly over-sensitive from her orgasms, but Ross was full of hot desire, the pent-up longings of three months finding outlet at last in Demelza’s familiar, responsive embrace. He had missed her all that time, as he always did, and he had stoked his own responses tonight by tasting her so thoroughly and bringing her such pleasure. He could not make love to her leisurely now, could not go slowly and prolong the time spent sheathed inside her. For both their sakes, it must be fast.

 

He braced an arm against the mattress and began to thrust, rolling his pelvis against hers, sinking into her again and again, deep and fast and with no finesse, no rhythm, nothing except the heat coiling tighter and tighter in his cock and balls. Demelza made a soft sound every time he thrust in, a breathless moan, and Ross muttered her name over and over, until at last he tipped over, at last he reached the lightning strike of his orgasm.

 

For a moment he heard nothing, for a moment he was suspended in it, all thought gone from his mind, leaving only the physical sensations. Then he heard her still making those soft noises, he heard his own panting breath, and he withdrew from her and collapsed onto the bed. He was half on Demelza and half on the mattress; their legs were tangled, his head on the pillow beside hers, her hand clasped in his. If he was too heavy for her, she didn’t complain, and for his part, Ross was pleased to prolong their physical closeness, the near-melding of two bodies into one.

 

At length, however, he did move, because the buttons of his breeches were digging in uncomfortably, and he knew that she must be just as keen to be rid of her clothing. He sat up and began to undress, and after a few moments Demelza sighed and followed suit. Ross had less to take off than she, and he was comfortably settled back in the bed by the time she pulled on her nightdress, blew out the candles, and came to join him. He held her close, breathing in the scent of her. When she rested her cheek on his chest, Ross began to stroke her hair gently, and Demelza made a contented sort of hum. They lay together quietly, but Ross’s mind was far from restful.

 

“I do not believe that I could bear to see another man do that with you,” he confessed at last. “And if Dwight could stand it for Caroline, I am no judge of character.”

 

“No,” Demelza said thoughtfully. “No, p’haps not. And I don’t know if I…” She trailed off, but Ross could imagine what she wanted to say. And yet her feelings were, he supposed, rather different than his own. They had discussed, in the past, how she had felt Elizabeth to be a constant threat to her, a constant rival, throughout the early years of their marriage, and he knew that Demelza had suffered from it – suffered, in some ways, more than he had suffered after her affair with Hugh Armitage. That Demelza had harboured jealousy was an immutable truth, but hers was not a resentful nature, and given that she had confessed to beginning to feel something more than friendship for Caroline, Ross could not suppose that she felt any strong feelings of jealousy now. Whereas he…he was jealous at the very idea of Demelza with Dwight, with any other man, and though Caroline’s idea intrigued him – though he could all-too-easily imagine bedding Caroline, with or without Demelza joining them – he could not imagine how he could accept the idea of Dwight being present also, of Dwight being with Demelza. Nor could he begin to conceive of how such a thing would work when he had never felt the slightest interest in another man, and was sure that Dwight had not either.

 

“But there’s other things, isn’t there?” Demelza said, breaking into his thoughts. “Other ways of doing things.” She reached down and skimmed her fingers over his flaccid cock. Ross groaned, and flung an arm across his face. He had found his release once already this night, but Demelza could be a temptress when she chose. She laughed huskily and curled closer against him, her nose nuzzling against his nipple. “Well,” she murmured, “I must confess, Ross, that I have entertained thoughts about Caroline, lately, that might shock you.”

 

“Could it shock me more than the idea of letting two people into our marriage?” Ross asked, more soberly than he intended. Demelza sighed, and she moved her hand back to its original position on his stomach. Ross tangled his fingers in her hair and stroked his thumb against her temple. “For that’s what Caroline seems to be suggesting, is it not?”

 

“Yes,” she murmured, “yes, that’s what she says. And – no, I suppose my thoughts could be nothing next to that.”

 

“I meant not to think about it more,” Ross said, “but perhaps that was too much to expect of myself.” Demelza hummed an agreement. He dropped his arm back down and stared up into the darkness of the room. He thought, as he had thought earlier, that it would be easier if Caroline had proposed a mere physical liaison. His marriage with Demelza, his closeness to her, was something that he valued all the more, now, because he had lost it or been at risk of losing it too often over the years of their marriage. After Julia’s death and all they had suffered then, after Francis’s death and Ross’s foolishness over Elizabeth, and then again when Hugh Armitage had come into their lives...he had been on the verge of losing Demelza too many times, and though now he was away for several months of the year, the physical distance had not seemed to have any effect on their emotional intimacy. The idea of letting Dwight and Caroline into that, even a little – even Dwight and Caroline, their closest friends – was something that Ross could barely even begin to contemplate.

 

And that was setting aside the fact that, even in London, he had never heard even _rumours_ of such an arrangement. Two married couples, enjoying emotional intimacies beyond the realms of close friendship, was like nothing he had ever heard of. It was not that Ross was particularly prone to heeding convention – his marriage to Demelza was proof enough of that, for those who cared to remember her origins – but nevertheless he was in some respects just as conventional as the next man, in the sense of knowing and believing that marriage was between one man and one woman. What Caroline had suggested would involve setting that aside, at least to a degree, and even if Ross acknowledged his attraction to Caroline, and his deep love for both his friends…even then, he wasn’t sure he could overcome the instinctive reaction against it. He wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to overcome it.

 

“Whatever else,” Demelza said, breaking into his thoughts, “whatever else, Ross, you mustn’t ever think that I’m not happy as we are now.”

 

“I don’t think that,” he assured her, combing his fingers through her hair and then smoothing down the errant strands that he had ruffled. “Not for a moment.”

 

“Because I am happy,” Demelza went on, determined that he should understand this point. “Doing what Caroline suggests – I think…I _think_ it could make us happy in a different way. All of us, I mean. Not the same as we are now, and not _more_ , because I couldn’t be happier than I am, being your wife and loving you.” She lifted her head from Ross’s chest and peered at him through the darkness. “D’you know?” she asked, a little anxious lest he should misunderstand. “What I mean is, you mustn’t say yes just because you think I would like it.”

 

She could see the white of his teeth as he smiled, and some glimmer of light reflecting in his eyes. “I wouldn’t,” he said. “I wouldn’t do that, Demelza, and you ought to know it. You _do_ know it, normally.”

 

“Well…” She put her head back down and closed her eyes. The circumstances, she felt – the darkness, and the late hour – were a blessing; it allowed her to keep some of her feelings and thoughts hidden from him, but also to voice things that she might otherwise have left unspoken. She was not usually so shy with Ross, so hesitant, but this situation was so far away from anything she had ever known. She had nothing to compare it with, no past incident with Ross to guide her in knowing how to proceed. All she could do was to be honest, as she had been so far, and hope that they would come through it. “Normally,” she agreed. “Normally I know it. But this is…Ross, am I just being – oh, what’s the word? Not ignorant, that’s not quite it.”

 

“Naïve?” he suggested.

 

“Yes, that’s it,” she said. “What I mean is, this isn’t any kind of a normal situation, is it?” He hummed, a noise that sounded like agreement but might merely be an encouragement for her to continue. “I couldn’t _know_ what you’d think you ought or could do, the way I might usually,” Demelza went on. “Or am I just being too naïve and countrified about it? I never heard of anything like it, but –,”

 

“You’re not being naïve,” Ross interrupted, his tone all warm reassurance. “I’ve never heard of anything like it, either.” He kept stroking her hair, and Demelza was glad of it, glad of the demonstration that nothing she was saying was upsetting him, which was the last thing she wanted. She pressed her cheek to his chest and listened to his heartbeat, solid and regular, as dependable as the tide. She could not imagine lying like this, companionably, with two more bodies in the bed with them. She could not imagine being this close with anyone else. She had never been like this with anyone but Ross. She had never enjoyed the quiet that came with deep love and from being physically sated, and from being alone together in a bedroom closed off from the rest of the world, with anyone else. Only with Ross. She wasn’t sure how it might be, with Caroline and Dwight. This time together with Ross was so precious, so much _theirs_ , that she wasn’t sure how she felt about the idea of sharing it.

 

It might all be so complicated, so hard to approach and to achieve, that Demelza wasn’t at all sure that it would be worth pursuing. And yet there was the way Caroline had looked at her, the way she had candidly admitted to being in love with her. There was the way Demelza had felt when she and Caroline had kissed. And Dwight, too – Demelza was as unsure of what she felt towards Dwight as she was of what she felt towards Caroline, thanks to Caroline’s suggestion of a relationship beyond friendship, but she had begun to wonder what she _could_ feel, if she allowed herself to be open to that possibility. But of course she would not allow her curiosity to flourish, and she was trying to guard against further tenderness towards Caroline, unless and until Ross gave his consent. If he turned Caroline down, if he decided he could not foresee any way to gain anything but heartache from the notion, then Demelza would put aside her new feelings and forget them. She might feel some regret over the lost chance, but she would not be hurt by it. She had spoken the truth to Ross; she was happy, she was content, just as they were now.

 

“You are inclined to try it,” Ross said after a while.

 

“I don’t say so,” Demelza said, feeling cautious, for Ross’s tone was particularly unreadable and she had no real idea what he was thinking. His hand had fallen idle, but his fingers were still caught in her hair, his thumb resting just behind her ear. Demelza almost lifted her head from his chest, wanting to see his face, but of course there was little light in the bedroom. A few minutes ago she had been thankful for the darkness to hide her own expressions; now she was ungrateful, wanting to see Ross’s familiar features. She wanted to glean, from the quirk of his eyebrow or the set of his jaw, at least a little of his thoughts and feelings.

 

“You don’t need to say so, my dear,” he said, and now she could hear a glimmer of amusement in his voice. “I flatter myself that I do know you a _little_ , after all these years together.” Demelza considered that for a moment, and then poked him gently in the stomach. Ross laughed, and she smiled, pleased as always to hear his laughter. “Well,” he said, still chuckling, “but admit it, Demelza, you are leaning that way.”

 

“I am leaning _no_ way until you come to your own decision,” Demelza said firmly. Ross was silent, so she went on, fumbling for the right words. “I said I don’t wish you to decide to try this…this thing because you think I want to, and I meant it. You must think it through and make up your own mind, without thinking of what you think I would wish.”

 

Ross was quiet for a moment more, and then he let out a long breath. “I take your point,” he said, “but you must see that I cannot make such a decision without reference to you. It’s both of us, or neither of us, isn’t it? So.” He brushed his thumb against the soft skin behind her ear, and Demelza sighed too, pleased by the gentle caress but discontented by his words. She had no desire for him to be influenced by her own inclination, but he was right. Both of them, or neither. She had said to Caroline that she would not agree unless Ross did too; so then she could not expect or ask Ross to even begin to form an opinion without knowing how she felt and what she wanted.

 

“Maybe ‘tis easier for me,” she murmured at last.

 

“How so?”

 

“Well…what I mean is, if we are thinking of the four of us, I think I should fancy Dwight quite easy –,” Ross grunted, a displeased kind of sound, but Demelza went on without responding to him. “And I know I have begun to feel things for Caroline. More than friendly things, I mean.” She remembered those two kisses; the softness of Caroline’s cheek against hers, the tentative touch of Caroline’s lips on hers. The taste of her, when their tongues had met, and how Demelza’s heart had fluttered wildly, how she had wanted more. Her breath caught in her throat at the memory of it. Oh yes, she had begun to feel desire for Caroline.

 

“Demelza,” said Ross. There was a rough note in his voice; a warning, and one that Demelza heeded. She rubbed her cheek against his chest and pressed a kiss to his breastbone. She hadn’t meant to grow distracted, and she understood from his tone that her distraction could easily sidetrack them both. Into pleasurable pursuits, she had no doubt, and it was an idea that she resolved to tuck away for another occasion, but for now their discussion was, and must remain, a serious one.

 

“So,” she said, “you see, I’ve had time to think of it, and a chance to – to see if anything at all might be there, with a woman. But you haven’t had time nor a chance to think about –,”

 

“About Dwight,” Ross muttered. He moved his hand away from her head, and Demelza felt a momentary pang of discontent at the loss of the reassuring feel of him cradling her so close. But Ross didn’t withdraw from her in any other way, so she banished the discontent and waited to hear what he would say next. “Of course, such things happen,” Ross said after a while. “Men with other men. Some men are so inclined, but even those who are not…in close quarters, such as the army, one hears about goings-on, even among men who are married or engaged.”

 

“Did you ever –,” Demelza cut herself off before she could finish the question, but she could not take the words back, and she knew her meaning must be plain enough.

 

“No, I did not,” Ross said curtly. “I never saw the attraction, and in any case I did not consider myself at liberty – as you know.” He spoke more sharply than he intended, but Demelza’s half-spoken question had nettled him. He didn’t quite know why; perhaps it was that he felt she should know better than to ask, that she should know _him_ better than that. She ought to know that not only had he never felt the slightest attraction towards men, but that during his time in the army he had considered himself committed, heart and body, to the promises he and Elizabeth had made. But he could acknowledge that his comments might easily lead Demelza to wondering whether he himself had ever taken partaken of the kind of thing that happened in barracks in the dead of night, or in camps in far-flung places of the world. He could not – or at least, _should_ not – blame her for wondering.

 

“No,” he said again, trying to gentle his tone. “No, I never did. Though I knew men who did.”

 

He had been shocked by it, when he’d first encountered two men bringing each other to a peak in darkened corners of the barracks. He had thought himself so worldly, so wise, but he had soon learned how green he still was. A few short weeks into his training and he’d learned a few lessons. He had been disgusted by the idea of it at first, as most decent, well-bred men were. Accidentally seeing two men together sexually, their hands on each other’s cocks in a joint pursuit of pleasure, had made Ross feel differently about those men, whom he had otherwise come to like well enough. He had assumed them to be weak, to be deficient in some way. Unmasculine and unmanned by the flaw in their nature that made them either inclined towards the company of other men, or so wholly unable to resist the baser urges of their bodies that they turned to men to slake their lust. Naïve young man that he had been, he had not known which he found more despicable: the soldier who was engaged to a young lady, or the man with whom the former had betrayed her. Ross had drawn away from the company of the men he’d seen in the darkness, kept a distance from them during his training and throughout the voyage to North America. It had only been after his first battle there, during which he had seen both men act with a courage and fortitude that he’d not imagined they could possess, being sodomites, that he began to perceive that the world was not so simple as he had imagined.

 

But he had never been inclined to try it for himself. His own hand had sufficed, on rare occasions; his own hand, and thoughts of the woman he’d believed to be waiting for him at home.

 

“I’ve never had the slightest fancy,” Ross said at last. “And I’ll wager neither has Dwight. It won’t work, Demelza. It cannot work.”

 

“I never looked at another woman, neither,” said Demelza, quite softly. “Yet Caroline made me start looking, and made me want more than looking.”

 

“That’s different,” Ross dismissed. Demelza was silent, but the silence seemed to speak volumes, and he tried to explain himself. “I mean, you said Caroline deliberately began to flirt with you, to make you – to make you begin to think about her. So she must have had some fancy herself, some desire for you, to do that, to…to kiss you.” He became sidetracked for a moment, his mind’s eye filled with a vision of what it might be like, to see Demelza and Caroline kissing. The idea of Caroline having desire for another woman was nothing he had ever imagined, and yet it was far from repulsive to him. Far from that. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to see it – Caroline and Demelza. His dearest wife and his dearest female friend, embracing.

 

Unbidden, his cock twitched as the vision sent a pulse of lust through him.

 

“Well,” said Demelza with a yawn, “I suppose neither one of you will know unless you decide to try. But most likely you’re right.” She rolled off him and onto her back, and yawned again as she pulled the blankets up. She was preparing for sleep; in a moment, Ross knew, she would turn onto her other side, the way she usually preferred to rest. He lifted an eyebrow, wondering what in his answer had been not to her taste. But no doubt she was right to try to get to sleep, regardless. It had been a long evening, and the hour must be growing very late.

 

“Most likely,” he agreed. “I’ll ride over and see Caroline in a few days. I can still scarcely believe the whole thing. There’s a lot to think over – for all of us.” He shifted down a little in the bed, then he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her mouth. “Sleep well, my dear,” he said quietly, tenderly. He wanted to say more, to express the love he held for her, the desire and the contentment of being with her, and the fear of disturbing that through this outlandish scheme of Caroline’s. But he couldn’t. The words wouldn’t emerge. He supposed that she knew, anyway; she had admitted to feeling many of the things that he was feeling, while relating Caroline’s proposition to him, and she had expressed it all far better than Ross could. “Goodnight,” he said at last. Demelza murmured a reply, and Ross kissed her once more before settling down to sleep.

 

He could not visit Caroline as soon as he would have liked. The time of year meant the farm work was never-ending, and there was always plenty of other business waiting for Ross’s return from London – tenants to see, repairs to be ordered, decisions to be made about livestock. Then there were the children, who seemed to always miss him keenly during his absences and to delight in his return. They kept him busy most evenings when he might otherwise have gone to call on Dwight and Caroline. Not that Ross minded; his children were a constant source of pleasure to him, and time spent at home with them, and with his beloved wife, was all the more precious for being so interrupted by his parliamentary work. Still, though he was always glad to spend time with his family and pleased to see how the farm had been managed during his absence, this time he was aware of each day that passed without visiting Caroline, something he needed and wanted to do sooner rather than later. It was not that Demelza was putting pressure on him to speak to Caroline – she was, in fact, remarkably mute on the whole subject, and never gave any sign that she was thinking about it – but rather that Ross felt his thoughts were too clouded and confused to come to any decision. He doubted he would find peace of mind in talking to Caroline, but at least he would hear, from her own mouth, her reasons and motivations for suggesting such an arrangement.

 

In the end, a little over a month elapsed before Ross was able to set aside his responsibilities and ride over to Killewarren. He went on a sunny morning at the end of June, knowing that Dwight did his regular rounds in Sawle and the local mines in the mornings and therefore would be away from home. It was perhaps cowardly of him – he felt a little ashamed of the cowardliness of the action – but he wanted to see Caroline before he faced Dwight. After all, if Caroline’s suggestion had not included Dwight, if Caroline were a single lady suggesting something like a recurring liaison with Ross and Demelza…well, Ross knew his answer would be much easier to decide. He had always been attracted to Caroline, and he knew now that Demelza was beginning to feel an attraction too. If it was the three of them, though Ross would hesitate over the emotional repercussions, the issues of loyalty and fidelity that must be discussed and sorted through together and individually, he might be more inclined to have those discussions. But it wasn’t just the three of them. There was Dwight, and Ross knew if _anything_ was to come of this, it must include all four of them, and they must all find some way of being willing.

 

Ross had never harboured the slightest fancy of kissing another man, let alone doing anything more. He wasn’t necessarily disgusted by the idea, but it was simply beyond his experience, and he couldn’t suddenly produce a physical attraction to Dwight out of thin air.

 

So he went to see Caroline when he knew Dwight would be out, and when he was shown into the drawing room and found Caroline with her small daughter Sophie, he pretended he didn’t see the knowingness in Caroline’s face.

 

“Well, Captain Poldark,” she said in greeting. “What a stranger you have been. I began to think you had forgotten us altogether. There now, Sophie, Nanny Thorpe will take you back to the nursery.”

 

Little Sophie insisted on greeting her ‘Uncle Ross’ first, and Ross bent over to allow her to press a kiss to his cheek, amused at the way she beamed up at him. But his mirth faded as soon as the door was closed behind the child, leaving him alone with Caroline. He looked down at her, seated on a settle looking as graceful and elegant as ever, and could not find the words to speak. Caroline looked up at him, meeting his gaze levelly, and then her mouth twisted into a rueful smile.

 

“Ah, how well I know that expression,” she said. “You have come to scold me.”

 

“Not scold,” Ross objected. “Interrogate, perhaps.” Caroline huffed a laugh, but he knew her well enough to see the trepidation she was trying to hide. Oddly, her nervousness made him less so, as if he gained confidence from seeing that she lacked it – from seeing that, as Demelza had said, Caroline truly had not been trying to concoct this scheme behind Ross’s back. She could not have, for she would not be so clearly uneasy if she had meant to do so. It eased the tension that had lingered in him, this past month, despite Demelza’s assurances. Demelza had not gone behind his back; Caroline had not gone behind his back. Caroline had chosen to approach Demelza first, but perhaps that should come as no surprise to Ross, knowing both women as he did.

 

“Not interrogate,” he amended, and took a seat opposite her. Caroline’s hands were in her lap, clasped together a little too tightly, betraying further signs of her nervousness. “I would have come sooner,” Ross went on, “but at this time of year, we’re so busy on the farm.”

 

“I had no expectations, I assure you,” said Caroline. “In all honesty, I should not have been entirely surprised if you had decided you could no longer be my friend.”

 

Ross shook his head slowly. “I would hope that we will continue to be friends, no matter what happens,” he said. “But I suspect that depends rather more on you than it does on me.” Caroline’s eyes widened a little, her mouth dropping open as if she wanted to speak, but she remained silent. Perhaps she meant to give Ross a chance to speak his mind, and Ross might appreciate that under other circumstances. But he hardly knew his own mind, and her silence was not what he sought now. He sighed, and leaned back in his chair. “Caroline,” he said, “I don’t know if I want to strike you or – ,”

 

He cut himself off, but it was clear to Caroline what Ross had almost said. Strike her, or kiss her. Heat rose in her cheeks, but she pretended that no blush was visible to him. She lifted her chin and tilted her head a little.

 

“Perhaps you should do neither,” she suggested. “At least not yet.”

 

“Not yet,” Ross murmured. He leaned forwards again, bracing his forearms on his knees. “Caroline, I have questions,” he said. “The things Demelza told me – I could barely believe her.”

 

“And yet she will have spoken nothing but the truth,” Caroline said softly. “Demelza is scarcely capable of lying to anyone, least of all you.” Lies of omission, occasionally. A white lie to soothe somebody’s hurt feelings. But honesty was one of Demelza’s principles, though Caroline was sure Demelza herself never thought of it in that way – not as a guiding moral standard for her life. Ross nodded agreement, and Caroline took a deep breath. “Ask whatever you wish,” she said. “I am entirely at your disposal.”

 

“Hm,” said Ross, one eyebrow raised slightly, showing his scepticism. He looked as sober as Caroline had ever seen him, his jaw set and his eyes flinty sharp as he watched her. That look had made many a man quail, Caroline knew, but she knew also that Ross disliked a coward, so she held herself still and looked straight at him, meeting his gaze without flinching. If he was angry, she felt, she deserved his ire. Caroline had risked his marriage, as well as her friendship with the Poldarks, by proposing her idea and by flirting with Demelza. Ross had every right to be angry.

 

And yet, she wasn’t quite sure that he _was_ angry. Sober and thoughtful, yes, but Ross irate was a sight that, once seen, was not easily forgotten, and she did not see that now. Demelza had thought that Ross would quite like the idea of she and Caroline together; perhaps Ross was more intrigued than he liked to admit. Caroline could only hope it was so.

 

“I am in earnest when I say that our continued friendship might depend more on you than me,” he said at last. “If I assume that Demelza was right in what she said to me – that you want us all to pursue a course that is entirely new and untested, at least in civilised society – then I can only assume, also, that you have felt this way for some time.”

 

Caroline tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Of course I’ve always had a fancy for you, Ross, and well you know it.” His jaw clenched a little, his eyes cut away from her. “Though you know I would never jeopardise your marriage, nor my friendship with either of you, for something so base,” she went on. “But you are both...you are both very dear to me, Ross. And there are few people who can resist loving Demelza, you know. She is…” She faltered. Her cheeks were hot. Now it was her turn to look away, full of an awkwardness that she had not expected.

 

“You are in love with her,” accused Ross.

 

“Yes,” Caroline agreed. “Yes. I love you both.” Ross flung himself from his chair and began to pace across the room. Caroline inhaled to speak, and then thought better of it. She looked down at her hands in her lap, at the wedding band that she never removed from her finger. Then her impulsiveness got the better of her caution. “What do you mean, Ross?” she asked. “Why would it depend on me? Our friendship, that is. Why would –,”

 

“I know you, Caroline!” Ross exclaimed, coming to a halt in front of her. Caroline swallowed. It was irritating, she thought, how her desire for Ross seemed to flare up at inappropriate moments. That fierce, hot passion always ran close to the surface in Ross, and Caroline could not help but be attracted to him when it burst forth – even when he was scolding her, or frustrated with her. “I have never known you to bear disappointment lightly,” he said. “If you have wanted this for some time – and the fact that you’ve dared to admit it makes me sure that you have – then how will you feel if I say no?” Caroline flinched, but Ross was relentless, though he must have seen how his words hurt. “How would you feel if I say to you now that I cannot imagine ever wanting such a thing, that I have no wish for anything beyond the happiness of my own marriage – that I do not love either of you in that way, and could never imagine having any desire for another man?”

 

Caroline closed her eyes. “I should accept that, of course,” she murmured. There was a hollowness growing inside her, an ache that she had not anticipated. At every step she had expected disappointment, had expected challenges, and had been elated as at each step her hopes had been raised a little higher. Now it all seemed to be crashing down around her.

 

“And continue to be my friend, as if you never wanted anything more?” demanded Ross.

 

“I – yes, of course!”

 

“I think you are lying to yourself,” said Ross. He spoke gently now, and a moment later he sat down beside her on the settle. Caroline opened her eyes but could not look at him. “I think it would always be between us,” he said, “and you might well come to hate me for saying no.” Caroline couldn’t speak; her mouth was dry. Ross reached out and laid his hand over hers. “I am not saying no,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

 

Caroline tugged her hands away from his. “Then you spoke cruelly,” she snapped. “Demelza sometimes complains of your tongue, Ross, and I see she does not exaggerate.” Hurt and confused, by his words and intentions and by her own feelings, Caroline rose, went to the window, and stared out blindly. She heard Ross sigh, but no movement; he remained where he was, on the settle. “Of course I’ve thought of what could happen,” she said at last. “Do you imagine me a fool? I have lived in dread, these last few months, of ruining all that we have. My marriage – your marriage – our friendships, our happiness. If we try it and it fails, it would be my fault and I should be to blame for ruining it all. I know that.”

 

“By speaking of it at all, you ran that risk,” Ross pointed out. Caroline shrugged irritably, and he sighed again. “Well,” he said, “I admire your courage, if not necessarily your intentions.”

 

The compliment made Caroline glance back at him; it was honestly meant, she perceived, but that didn’t bring her much comfort. Ross still looked grim, so solemn and severe with it that she could not look at him for long. She was sure, now, that she had destroyed her friendship with Ross, in seeking to gain more from him and from Demelza. She had not thought him angry, when he first came, and she still did not see anger in him now, but her hope that Ross might be intrigued by the idea – at least by the idea of she and Demelza – seemed to have been misplaced. Nothing he was saying could give her any optimism, not even his remark that he was not saying no, for he had qualified that with a ‘yet’. She stared back out of the window and drew on every ounce of poise that had ever been instilled in her as a girl. If Ross thought that she would be irreparably disappointed by a denial, she would show him to be wrong. She was quite, quite happy with Dwight, and would never be anything but content with the life they had forged together. Ross and Demelza would remain her friends, for anything else was unacceptable, and she would let her love for them subside back into simple friendship. It must happen. She would not lose them through an inability to forget any greater tenderness she felt for them.

 

“If it was you alone,” Ross said, breaking into her thoughts, “then the choice you lay at my feet would be easier to make.”

 

Caroline expelled a breath. “Would it?” she said, trying to sound as though she didn’t care either way. “Enlighten me, Ross, for you have presented me with many reasons for refusing. If it was I alone, would that not still be an unwanted intrusion on your marriage?”

 

“Yes, it would be an intrusion,” he acknowledged. “But I think I would not be unwilling to try it.” Ross stood up and came to stand beside her at the window. Caroline’s breath caught in her throat, startled by how close he stood to her – close enough that she could smell the scent of the soap he must have used earlier. It was the same soap that Demelza used, scented with wintergreen. Demelza bought it in Sawle, Caroline knew, though she couldn’t remember how she had come by that knowledge. She inhaled the scent and felt her nipples grow hard, under her stays. Her stomach was fluttering, her heart thumping. She ached to lean closer to him, to rest her hands on his shoulders and feel the solid strength of him – to be held in return, gathered into Ross’s arms and kissed by him. And more than that; she wanted so much more. She wanted to be embraced by both of them, both the men she loved, Dwight and Ross together and her held securely between them. She wanted to feel Ross’s hands on her body, and Demelza’s mouth, and she wanted to see how Dwight looked when he was watching them. She wanted to tell them how much she loved them all, and to know that love was shared.

 

She turned her head away and closed her eyes. “Do you think I shall feel better, for your saying so?” she inquired, willing her heart to slow and her unwelcome desire to disappear. “But I see your objection, Ross. You cannot envisage such a thing with the four of us.”

 

Ross looked down at her and could not quite understand her expression. He had never seen her looking like this before, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. There was some slight colour in her cheeks, and her breath came quicker than usual. Her refusal to look at him was unusual and he found that he did not like it. Caroline was normally direct to the point of bluntness, and he was not used to this avoidance.

 

“Well,” he murmured, “one cannot simply conjure up feelings, or desire, out of nothing. Not even to please one’s wife and friend.”

 

“No,” said Caroline. She opened her eyes and smiled up at him, a brilliant, brittle smile. Ross liked it even less than he liked the way she had refused to look at him a moment before. “Indeed not. So I imagine there is no more to be said.”

 

Ross frowned, glanced her over, saw the fine tremor in her hands and the way her breast rose and fell with each heartbeat, each breath. Suddenly he understood it, the meaning behind her expression. It was not a thing he had ever seen in her before – not like this, not so marked. Dwight would know it, he realised. Dwight would know this look at once, for Dwight must be the usual cause of it. Caroline _desired_. She was breathless and trembling and flushed because he, Ross, had come to stand so close to her and she desired him. It was a heady thing to see, to acknowledge. He had always been aware of his own attraction to Caroline, the spark that could have easily been fanned into a flame at any time had they not each been attached to others. The spark, it seemed, had already been fanned in Caroline’s heart. She had allowed it to grow, and now his closeness to her had revealed it.

 

He moistened his lips. Caroline’s eyes darted down to his mouth, then back up to meet his gaze. Her smile remained in place, as if it was a mask she had donned, but her eyes seemed overly-bright, the tilt of her head too forcedly casual.

 

“I think there is more to be said,” Ross said. His voice was rough, his mouth dry. “I think there is more, Caroline.”

 

“You said yourself that you do not, and cannot, love Dwight in that way,” Caroline reminded him. “So what else is there?”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t know, Caroline!” Frustration filled him, frustration at his own inability to make a clear decision. It should not, he felt, be this difficult. He should simply refuse her, refuse this insanity, this ludicrous suggestion that two marriages might be merged in some way. He was happy with Demelza, and she was happy with him. Caroline and Dwight were happy. He ought to say no, ought to have said no a month ago when Demelza had first told him of Caroline’s idea. There was no way any rational man could agree to it, even if one set aside Ross’s own particular fault of jealousy. The whole thing was preposterous, and he ought to have been able to make up his mind quickly and easily, yet still he hesitated. Still he could not help thinking about it. “This last month,” he said, “I have…I have challenged my own thoughts in a way I had not ever imagined doing before.”

  
“With any noticeable result?” Caroline inquired, arching one eyebrow at him. Ross fought a smile, and dipped his head to acknowledge the hit. That was the problem with Caroline; she knew how to make him smile, to amuse him, even when he was in no mood to be amused. It was, at times, infuriating. It was one of the reasons why he had not – so far – been able to dismiss her idea out of hand. Because the reality was that he could quite easily love her in the way that she wanted; he could love her as a closer companion than friend, though nobody could ever be so essential to his life as Demelza was.

 

“I have two main objections,” he found himself saying. “One, as you say, is my regard for Dwight. He is my greatest friend, a man I trust implicitly, but I have never felt any attraction towards a man, and I cannot see how that will change.” Caroline nodded, but remained silent. “The other,” Ross went on, “is the flaw in my nature that leads me into jealousy.” She looked startled, lips parting and brow furrowing, and Ross’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “You know that I have become nearly insensible with it in the past,” he reminded her, holding up his hand. There was little enough to see of the wound he’d gained in his duel only a few years before – a pointless duel, and a wound that might easily have left him without the use of the hand. Though that had not happened, there was still an ache to it sometimes, and that was reminder enough of his folly. “The thought of anything occurring between my wife and another man is not something I can stomach easily,” Ross said, and Caroline nodded again, slowly, her expression still thoughtful. “And I daresay it’s a flaw we all suffer from, to one degree or another.”

 

“Perhaps,” Caroline murmured. “I suppose I thought that if we were all four together…”

 

It was clearly a notion that had not struck her before, which surprised Ross, for she seemed to have thought over this scheme quite thoroughly. She seemed troubled by what he said, and Ross was inexplicably torn at the sight of her frown. Part of him was glad to see her so stricken, for he had had little peace of mind since returning to Cornwall, and he was, in a selfish and petty way, pleased that he had offered an obstacle to her for which she had prepared no defence. But part of him, an inexplicable and unwelcome part, wanted to offer her some reassurance – to give her some encouragement that perhaps this was not an insurmountable hurdle. He could not explain the impulse, did not _want_ to explain it, even to himself, for it seemed to lead into dangerous waters. It seemed to be an impulse that inclined him towards agreeing that they could try, at least, this outlandish and indecent thing that Caroline had proposed. And yet all his arguments still stood, they were all still valid, and there were no adequate answers to them.

 

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “I don’t know if that would make it better, if I would be less jealous if we were – if we were all together, as you want. I _don’t know_ , Caroline, and I’ve gambled far too much with my happiness in the past – and with _Demelza’s_ happiness, which is more important.”

 

“I think Demelza might be prepared to take this gamble,” retorted Caroline. Her mask was gone; her expression now was all challenge, fiery and vibrant in a manner that was all-too-familiar to Ross after their long years of friendship. “I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge, Ross,” she added, provokingly. “Will you begin now?”

 

Ross inhaled sharply, reached out despite himself and grasped her elbows. Caroline’s bravado seemed to falter for a second as Ross brought her closer to him, flush up against him, their heads near enough that her breath was hot against his face. Her lips were parted, the lower lip so plump and tantalising, so _tempting_. He had thought so before, though not often. Just occasionally, just when he had allowed his mind to stray. He had thought that she had a mouth he would like to kiss – to properly kiss, a mouth to lick into and lips to nibble and a tongue to caress. Demelza had kissed her, he remembered distantly; Demelza knew what Caroline _tasted_ like. Caroline was so close, her eyes wide, her face tilting up towards his. It would be so very easy.

 

Ross let her go with a muttered curse and swung away from her. “No,” he said, as much to himself as to her. “No. Not like this.”

 

“Ross –,”

 

“If,” Ross interrupted her, “if anything is to happen – _if_ we all agree – and I am not agreeing, Caroline, not now – if it does, then we cannot do this.” He wiped his hand across his mouth, discovered that he was shaking and tried to master himself. He took a deep breath, released it, and glanced back at Caroline. She was clutching the windowsill, tall and lithe in her frock, her cheeks flushed almost as red as her lips. “Not you and I,” he said, “nor you and Demelza, nor she and Dwight. This –,” he gestured between them, “– this does not happen. We are all four together, or each in our own marriages.” It would be the only way; he could see that much. The only way to give none of them any cause for jealousy, for suspicion. Nothing would be done behind his back, nothing would be arranged without all four of them knowing and agreeing and –

 

He could barely believe he was giving the idea credence enough to set a boundary around it.

 

“I need to leave,” he said, when the silence had dragged out for too long, neither of them, it seemed, able to find words to fill it. “I must – I must think.”

 

“Of course,” Caroline murmured. “I – I understand.” Ross stood immobile, staring at her, and Caroline offered him a tremulous smile. “Do you go as my friend still, at least?” she asked.

 

“Yes,” said Ross. “Yes, we part as friends. I would not lightly cast aside your friendship, Caroline.” He wanted to go to her, to take her hand in his, but the realisation of that urge was like cold raindrops trickling down inside his collar. He could not do it; he _would_ not do it. Not until – not unless things were settled, one way or the other. So instead he bowed his head to her and retreated from Killewarren, no easier in his mind than he had been before the visit.

 

When he reached Nampara, he was glad to find that Demelza had taken the children down to the cove; it enabled him to escape conversation and bury himself in the library, ostensibly with mine paperwork but really to try to make some sense of his meeting with Caroline. Still, he knew Demelza would come to find him once she returned, and so it proved. He had been home scarcely an hour before he heard the thunder of small footsteps in the hallway, and then Demelza’s voice ushering them away, and eventually her knock at the library door.

 

Demelza had not been surprised to find the library door shut, when she had brought the children back from the beach in plenty of time to wash and tidy themselves before dinner. Ross rarely closed the door firmly, rarely shut anyone out of the library unless he had some pressing matter to attend to for which he needed all his concentration. But she had expected him to return with at least a degree of turmoil and, knowing his moods as she did, the sight of the library door fully closed merely confirmed her expectations. On another occasion she might have left him to his thoughts for longer, but the midday meal would be served shortly, and Demelza was too full of anxiety and curiosity to be able to exercise patience and wait for his reappearance. For nearly five weeks, she had bided her time and guarded her tongue, determined to wait for Ross to think, determined to wait for a sign from him that might give her some hint as to his thoughts. But he’d given her nothing until this morning, when he’d said that he planned to call on Caroline. He’d told her at breakfast, and their eyes had met across the table and Demelza had known what he meant to discuss with Caroline.

 

She had been patient for all these weeks; she could not be patient now.

 

Ross’s call for her to enter seemed distracted, but Demelza knew as soon as she saw him that it was not work that distracted him so. The mine ledger was open on his desk, his pen was in his hand, but there was no fresh ink on the nib, or on the page below it. She closed the door behind her and went to him, smoothing her hand across his shoulder and bending to drop a kiss on his forehead. Ross put his arm around her waist and leaned into her with a heavy sigh that pained her to hear.

 

“Should you like to talk about it?” she ventured.

 

“I don’t know,” said Ross, and then he sighed again. “In fact I will talk about it whether I should like to or not, for if – _if_ any of this madness is to continue, there must be no more concealment of anything that takes place.” Demelza inhaled to protest that she had never intended to conceal anything, but Ross took her hand and kissed it and smiled at her, though it was somewhat strained. “I don’t mean you did it deliberately,” he said. “There’s no blame in what I said.” He manoeuvred her so that she was perched on the desk in front of him, raised a little above him, and Demelza took her makeshift seat and waited for him to begin. It took him a few moments, and when at last he did speak, he did not look at her. “If I said to you,” he began, slowly, “that this morning, at Killewarren, I had kissed Caroline…what would you feel? What would you say?”

 

Demelza sat stunned for a moment. She felt almost as if the air had been knocked out of her, as if some blow had caught her across the chest and emptied her lungs. She had not expected such a surge of jealousy, such an instant, instinctive reaction to hearing that Ross had kissed Caroline. It was wholly irrational, for after all she had confessed the same thing to Ross on the night of his return home – she had confessed to him that she had kissed Caroline. And she had understood his jealousy then, and had felt a twinge of it when she thought of Caroline and Ross being intimate, even with she herself present and participating. But she had not realised how much it might hurt, to hear that Ross had kissed Caroline. She had not realised.

 

She had a sudden vision of it: Ross and Caroline, his hands perhaps at her waist, hers resting on his shoulders, their mouths meeting. Ross’s tanned, bristled cheek close to Caroline’s rosy one.

 

Ross glanced up at her, a quick, darting glance, and then he looked away again. Demelza caught her breath.

 

“I…do not think I like it,” she said cautiously. “I – I am not sure, I…” She lifted a hand, and pressed her fingers against her lips. She was silent, and Ross was silent, and though he was clearly waiting for more, Demelza couldn’t begin to put names to the things she was feeling. “I think perhaps I dislike that you did it without telling me,” she said at last, helpless to explain herself in any other way. “I don’t know. I do not like it, and I know that makes me a hypo – hypo –,”

 

“Hypocrite,” Ross suggested. Demelza murmured her agreement, and Ross shrugged his shoulders and looked at her properly. He wore one of his most unreadable expressions; she could not tell what he was thinking, and could only guess at what he might be feeling. “Well, perhaps you are,” he said. “But you’ve nothing to dislike; I did not kiss her.”

 

Demelza was indignant, and she pushed away his hand when he tried to lay it on her knee. “Ross, you’re cruel,” she protested. “Oh, that was a cruel thing to say!”

 

“You’re the second woman to call me cruel today,” Ross remarked, looking not at all chastened. “Since both are women whom I hold in high regard, I can only suppose that I _have_ been cruel. But I had to know.”

 

“Oh, did you?” Demelza said archly. “Did you indeed?” She was not mollified when Ross leaned forwards to press a kiss to her mouth, for she knew it was not meant as an apology. She felt unsettled, unhappy with her own reactions and unhappy at the way he had deceived her. It was, it must have been, a deliberate provocation on his part, some way for him to test her, to see what she would feel if he _had_ kissed Caroline behind her back. If he had not been testing her, then it could only have been a petty desire for some kind of payback that had caused him to say that he’d kissed Caroline, and Ross had never been a petty man. So she could forgive him for that – the sting of it would fade quickly enough – but she was not sure she could forgive herself so easily for her own response.

 

“Demelza,” sighed Ross, leaning back into his seat. “Truly, if we’re to go into this thing, we must do so with our eyes open. Admit, my dear, that you can be just as jealous as I, at times.” Demelza raised her eyebrows at him, then caught the twinkle in his eye and the slight upwards tilt at one corner of his mouth.

 

“Very well,” she said. “Very well, I admit I was jealous when you said that, but – but not _just_ jealous.” She slid off the edge of the desk and onto his knee; Ross put his arms around her and she leaned against him, resting her head against his shoulder. “I cannot tell you what I felt for I do not _know_ what I felt,” she murmured. “But it was not just jealousy, Ross.”

 

Ross petted her, his hand moving in soothing circles against her back. “I know,” he said. “I know. I felt the same, when you told me you’d kissed Caroline. The very idea of you embracing another enraged me, and yet…”

 

“Yet you wished you’d seen it?” Demelza suggested.

 

“Yes, precisely.”

 

They were silent for a while. Demelza rubbed her thumb across her lower lip, thinking about the vivid picture that had sprung into her mind of Ross and Caroline embracing. The first stab of jealousy had waned, and she was surer, now, that she had spoken truly when she had said that she disliked the idea of them doing it without her – without telling her, even, let alone without her presence. She thought, or perhaps she _hoped_ , that seeing it would erase the jealousy, the slight sting of betrayal that she otherwise felt when thinking of Ross kissing another, holding another. Certainly imagining such an embrace seemed to be stirring more interest in her than it did jealousy. But there was no real way of knowing how she would react to it, to the reality of it, until it happened. Ross, too, could not know for certain how he would react unless faced with it as a real event, rather than simply an abstract idea.

 

She thought about Ross and Caroline kissing. She imagined Caroline’s lips swollen from it, imagined taking Ross’s place and kissing Caroline herself, nipping at Caroline’s lower lip and delving in to see if she could taste Ross on Caroline’s tongue. Ross would press up against her and try to join then, try to kiss them both at once, and it would be wet and messy and perfect. And then, Demelza thought, growing breathless, then Dwight too – oh, the thought of Dwight and Ross kissing sent a pulse of desire rippling through her body. She had never yet pictured it so clearly, so vividly. She squeezed her thighs together, and knew that Ross would not be able to miss the slight movement, nor the way her breathing had changed.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Ross asked her, in a low, quiet voice. “You seem…”

 

“I was imagining something,” Demelza murmured.

 

“Tell me?”

 

“I was imagining you kissing her, and then…then _me_ kissing her.” She heard Ross’s sharp inhalation, and felt the way he shifted just a little in his chair. “Then all three of us,” Demelza said. “All three of us kissing, and then – then…”

 

“Then?” Ross prompted her. His voice was rough, rasping, the way it got sometimes when he was aroused.

 

“Then I thought about you and Dwight kissing,” said Demelza, taking hold of all the boldness within her, the boldness she knew Ross admired. Ross made a choking noise, and Demelza was prompted by an imp of mischief to continue. “I imagined how it would be,” she whispered, “the way you’d look…the way you’d look together. D’you know, I never thought how kissing a woman would feel softer – her cheek, I mean, against mine. It’d be different with two men, wouldn’t it?”

 

Ross was rendered speechless by her – not a regular occurrence, and so one that was always memorable. It was only occasionally that Demelza said or did something for which there was no answer, for which no words could be found, and Ross’s only comfort on those occasions was that she seemed oblivious to how pointed her remarks could be, or at least uncaring of the advantage she might easily seize after producing some comment that made Ross temporarily incapable of forming a coherent response.

 

“Sort of…rough,” Demelza added. Ross opened his mouth to speak, but only managed another meaningless sound. Demelza pulled away far enough to look down at him. The innocence of her tone was belied by the expression in her face, the way her eyes twinkled at him, and Ross found his voice at the sight of it.

 

“I have not said yes!” he exclaimed. “And I have never in my life – not even these past weeks – had any thought of kissing another man!”

 

“Yes, Ross, I know,” said Demelza. The twinkle in her eye vanished, and she cupped his cheek in her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth. “Forgive me,” she said. “I let myself be carried away.”

 

“Demelza…” Ross trailed off, not sure what he could say. He covered her hand with his, then turned his head so he could kiss her palm. Neither of them spoke. He closed his eyes and thought about the conversation he’d had with Caroline, the way he had almost kissed her. He thought – forced himself to think – about the fantasy Demelza had just admitted to him. He and Dwight, embracing as lovers. He could not envisage it, could not imagine having any flicker of desire for a man. All these last long weeks since his return to Cornwall, he had wrestled with all the problems inherent in Caroline’s proposal, and this was still the greatest difficulty. He could perhaps see how such an arrangement might add some new flavour to his life, some wider happiness than was encompassed in his marriage. He could concede that Caroline might be right, that his jealousy might well be abated by being present – being a _participant_ – in anything that happened. But he could not imagine having the urge to kiss Dwight, let alone anything else.

 

And yet it struck him that if he was ever to feel desire for any man, it would be for Dwight, who had been his staunchest friend for so long, his comrade in ventures both successful and otherwise. Ross had other friends, of course, but none quite like Dwight.

 

He kissed Demelza’s palm again and then nudged her off his knee. “It must be nearly time for dinner,” he said gently. “The children will be wondering where we are.” Demelza rose, but she seemed a trifle unwilling, and Ross tried to reassure her. “I have come to no decision,” he said. “I am…grateful that you’ve not spoken of it, this last month.”

 

Demelza smiled faintly. “I know you, Ross,” she said. “And this is not a decision I would ever want to nag you into making.”

 

“You never nag, my dear,” Ross assured her, making an effort to return her smile. He stood up, took her hand in his and squeezed it. Her smile became a little fuller. “I want you to be happy,” he added. “I always want that.”

 

“But not at the expense of _your_ happiness,” Demelza said at once. “And I am happy as we are, Ross. If you cannot feel more –,” Ross opened his mouth to speak, but Demelza hurried on. “If you cannot feel more,” she repeated, “and I do understand why that might be, then you must say no. And we will all carry on as we were before, just as happy as before, and we will let the idea die.”

 

Ross had to kiss her. He bent his head and pressed his mouth to hers, and because he caught her by surprise, her lips were already parted and he could dip his tongue into her mouth and taste the wet heat of her. Demelza made a soft sound, and Ross swallowed it, deepening the kiss because he could, because she was letting him, and because at least in kissing her he could attempt to convey some of what he was feeling.

 

He had failed, since returning home, to try to put his thoughts and feelings about Caroline’s proposition into words. This morning’s conversation had helped him in that, and he had managed at last to articulate some of the many things that had dogged him ever since that first night when Demelza had told him about it. He had tried, despite his confusion, to make sure that his attentions towards her were unchanged; they had talked and laughed and loved almost as if nothing had happened. Still, Ross had been conscious that things were not the same, that something _had_ happened, and though Demelza had refrained from referencing Caroline’s idea in either deed or word, Ross had felt there to be the slightest of barriers between them. No, not a barrier – but some difference in their minds that he disliked all the more because he had felt them to be in joyous harmony before.

 

He tried, now, to show her that he, too, was happy as they were. He slid his hands around her waist and held her close, stroked his tongue against hers, and could not suppress a groan when she wrapped her arms around his neck and responded to his embrace as eagerly as if they were still newly-wed. He did not need to try, he realised; she knew he loved her. She knew, she must know, how deeply loved she was, how cherished. There was not one woman in a hundred like Demelza – nor in a thousand, even – and he had long since sworn to himself that he would never lose sight of how lucky he was that she loved him.

 

They parted when a shriek came from some other part of the house, a warning that the children were growing rambunctious. Demelza seemed to be glowing as he reluctantly ended the kiss. Her contentment shone out from her like a signal light on a foggy day, bright and warm, and it was a generous contentment, her happiness feeding his own as it so often did. Ross left his hands on her waist, still so slender even after four children, and refused to let her go far.

 

“We’ll talk later,” he promised. “I’ll tell you all that was said, this morning.”

 

“I should like that,” Demelza said softly. She put her fingers to her mouth, touching her wet lips, and Ross had to fight the urge to lean forwards and kiss her again. Demelza seemed to catch the drift of his thoughts, for she took her fingers from her lips and pressed her hand flat against his chest. “Dinner,” she reminded him. “And the children.”

 

So Ross let her go entirely, and followed her from the library to round up the horde of wild beasts that were his two daughters, and he tried to put from his mind the conversations he’d had this morning with the two most important women in his life. It was easy enough around the children, for they occupied him for as long as he would let them do so, and nor was it too difficult when he made his escape from them and went back to the library to lose himself in mine accounts and then in overdue correspondence. It was not that he did not need to think more about Caroline’s proposal, but Ross had come to the conclusion that he could not make this decision by thinking it over alone. The time had come to discuss it further with Demelza, and so there was no point in wasting the afternoon in brooding. This evening, he resolved, he would talk it all through with Demelza – his fears, his impulses, all that had been said at Killewarren and all that had remained unsaid.

 

But events conspired against him. That evening, not long after Demelza had taken the children up to bed, there was a knock on the front door, and shortly afterwards, Dwight was admitted to the parlour. Ross greeted him with some surprise. He had not seen Dwight since his return from London, though normally they would have met several times in the span of a month. It had not been through any specific desire to avoid Dwight – the time of year gave Ross more to do than he had hours for in the day – but still, they had not met since Caroline had raised the idea of the four of them being…being _more_ together. This visit was, could only be, a result of Ross’s own visit to Caroline this morning. She had, of course, told Dwight, and now here was Dwight visiting Ross in turn. Ross wondered if Dwight felt as awkward as he did, shaking hands as if their wives had not kissed, as if those inestimable women had not suggested that he and Dwight could venture beyond the bounds of propriety with each other.

 

“Have you been turned from your own hearth, to come seeking mine?” Ross inquired, drawing up another chair beside the fireplace. “Something to drink, Dwight?”

 

“I’ve not been turned away, no,” said Dwight. “And I brought something to share, if you’d care to.” He proffered a bottle of something; it was, Ross saw, a particularly good vintage – finer than the stuff Dwight normally drank. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, and Dwight shrugged. “A gift from a patient in London,” he said. “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

 

“And this is one such, is it?” said Ross, trying to sound light-hearted.

 

“I think so,” said Dwight, looking straight at Ross, catching his gaze with a frank stare that made Ross feel a twinge of shame that he had hoped to delay this meeting further. Dwight, it seemed, was taking Ross’s usual tack and confronting the situation head on.

 

And that was indeed Dwight’s purpose in coming to Nampara. He had returned to Killewarren from his morning rounds eager for a good dinner, and had found Caroline in an unusual state of agitation. She had admitted to him at once that Ross had called on her, and relayed the finer points of the discussion. When Dwight had voiced his intention to call on Ross, and to do so as soon as possible, Caroline had neither encouraged nor dissuaded him. Dwight had had appointments he could not put off during the afternoon, and knew that Ross would most likely be similarly busy, but Dwight was determined to see Ross before many more hours had passed – certainly before Ross could, as was so often his habit, think himself into knots about the whole situation. So after supper he had ordered his horse saddled, found a good bottle of brandy to take over, and suggested that Caroline should not wait up for him. She had kissed him goodbye and wished him luck, and now, looking at Ross, Dwight knew he would need plenty of luck, and a goodly amount of dogged perseverance besides.

 

“I thought,” he went on, as Ross went to the cupboard to fetch a couple of glasses, “that it’s been so long since I saw you last –,”

 

“The time of year on the farm –,” Ross began to say, as if he felt he needed an excuse, but Dwight waved it away and continued.

 

“It’s been so long,” he said again, “that I could almost think you were avoiding me. So I thought I’d bring a bottle over, to ease the way if that was the case.”

 

“No,” said Ross, shaking his head. He put two glasses on the table and stared down at them. Dwight watched him closely, assessing his friend’s mood, looking for any sign that Ross was more than uncomfortable – any sign that Ross was truly displeased or, worse yet, unhappy. He knew Ross well enough to know the slight tensing of muscles, the shift of his eyes, the politeness of his smile, that all signalled Ross’s displeasure and anger. But Dwight saw none of that now, and he took comfort in it. “No,” Ross said again. “I have not been avoiding you.” He poured brandy into the glasses and passed one to Dwight. “Though I have not made any particular effort to seek you out,” he admitted, reluctantly.

 

“I suppose you could say I’ve been doing the same,” Dwight conceded. He watched as Ross took his seat again. Caroline, he knew, would time her next comment for the moment Ross took a drink, but Dwight had a different temperament. Ross knocked back half the glass of brandy, and Dwight waited until he had swallowed. Then: “I am determined, Ross, that this should not be the end of our friendship.”

 

Ross glanced up at him, startled, and Dwight held his gaze for a long moment. He was not quite sure what he could see in Ross’s expression, and he could only hope his own expression was as unreadable. He wondered what Ross would think if he knew how Caroline had teased Dwight, all those weeks ago now, about what Ross might be like in bed. Dwight had been hard pressed to put it out of his mind ever since then; he had heard, over and over in his mind, Caroline’s breathless voice speculating that Ross might like to use his mouth, that Ross might –

 

He felt himself flushing, and covered it by drinking some brandy. It hit the back of his throat, making him cough.

 

“It’s better quality than we’re used to,” said Ross. His voice was a trifle gruff, and he was once more avoiding catching Dwight’s eye. Dwight coughed again, and cleared his throat. Silence settled upon them, awkward and growing more so with each passing second. Several times Dwight opened his mouth to speak, but found himself unable to do so. His intention in coming had been to find some way for he and Ross to continue being friends, no matter what was decided, but now that he was here, Dwight felt that perhaps bridges had been burned already, regardless of anyone’s good intentions. He was conscious that he was very aware of Ross, in a way he never had been before.

 

The opening of the parlour door interrupted the painful silence; it was Demelza, asking as she came in if she had heard a knock at the front door. Dwight and Ross both rose when she entered, but she came no further than the doorway, and she swept her gaze across them both in that peculiar way she sometimes had of seeming to see more than she ought.

 

“Good evening, Dwight,” she said. “Have you come to borrow my husband for the evening?”

 

“If you’ve no objection,” Dwight managed to say. Demelza looked straight at him, then at Ross, and though Dwight didn’t glance at Ross, he was sure that some unspoken communication was passing between them. It could never work, he thought; a marriage was such a bond, the chains of it invisible perhaps but no less real. And yet, and yet…

 

Then Demelza nodded, and smiled at Dwight with unusual warmth. “No objection,” she said. “Though I do ask you both to be quiet, Clowance is a mite disinclined to go to sleep tonight.” She turned and left the room, shutting the door behind her. Dwight listened to the sound of her retreating footsteps, and then he turned to Ross, who looked almost as startled as Dwight felt.

 

“Do you ever have the feeling,” Dwight said, “that your life is not entirely your own?”

 

Ross stared at him, and then suddenly there was warmth in his eyes, and the awkwardness of before had gone. Ross dropped back down into his chair and waved a hand expressively.

 

“I believe such a state of affairs is called ‘marriage’,” he chuckled. “Though Demelza’s been managing things around here – myself included – since she was fifteen.” He took up his glass again, drained it, and then gestured at Dwight. “And Caroline led you a merry dance before you were wed, too, as I recall!”

 

Dwight had to laugh. “Well, you know Caroline,” he said. “She is as she has always been.” He leaned forwards to pour Ross another glass of brandy and considered his next move carefully. The ice had been broken, but he knew Ross’s moods; a misplaced word and Ross might easily withdraw again. Ross took another healthy gulp of brandy, and Dwight lifted an eyebrow at him, provoked despite his good intentions. “Yes, I thought we might both be in need of fortification for this conversation,” he said, a trifle more sharply than he had intended. “But perhaps I should have brought two bottles.”

 

“Come, Dwight, do you blame me?” Ross grimaced. “This is – it is – quite beyond anything I have ever dreamt. Or you, either, I daresay.” Dwight murmured an agreement, and very carefully tried not recall one or two dreams and fantasies he’d had over the past few weeks. It was Caroline’s fault, he thought ruefully. She had somehow managed to open a door that he had never imagined existed, and ever since he had been unable to close it again. He had been unable to rid himself of the thoughts – and worse still, Caroline knew it. More than once in their lovemaking she had whispered suggestions to him at moments when he had been helpless to resist the images she had conjured.

 

Still, Ross was right in essentials: Caroline’s proposal was beyond anything Dwight had dreamed about before. It was only since hearing about it that he had been gradually awakened to the possibility that perhaps for Ross – for his greatest friend – he might be able to feel more than friendship.

 

“I have no wish to lose _your_ friendship, either,” Ross was saying. Dwight took a gulp of brandy and forced himself to pay attention. “Can we not – at least for tonight – let it be forgotten and speak of other matters? After four months, surely there are other things to say.”

 

Dwight hesitated. “I think we _should_ talk about it,” he demurred. But then he saw an alteration in Ross’s expression, a shift in the set of his jaw and the tilt of his head, and Dwight changed his mind. Ross was perfectly capable of digging in his heels for longer than anybody wanted through sheer stubbornness. Dwight knew his own mind, and knew that the only thing holding him back, now, was the uncertainty over what he felt, or what he could feel, for Ross. The past few weeks had showed him that an attraction could grow on his part. Ross was the unknown variable now, the deciding factor, and from what Caroline had said, Dwight suspected him to be teetering on the edge of a decision. One wrong word, one unfavourable wind, would send him toppling over in a firm direction, would make him say nay to it all. Dwight could see that he should not push Ross. Not now. “Soon,” he said. He finished his glass of brandy and poured another. “I wanted your advice, in fact,” he said. “About some livestock. I asked Demelza, but she suggested I wait for you, and it wasn’t urgent enough to need a letter.”

 

Ross’s look of relief was unmistakeable. “Of course,” he said. “Though she’s always had a knack with animals, so I doubt there’s anything I can add.”

 

They talked about Dwight’s cows, and Killewarren’s fields, and Wheal Grace, and from Wheal Grace the conversation meandered onto the general state of health in the local villages. The winter had passed easily enough this year, but there were always illnesses going around, and Dwight was thoroughly distracted from his original purpose at Nampara by expounding on the evils of poverty in causing such deprivations that people had no resources with which to fight the harsher fevers and outbreaks of disease that wandered, it sometimes seemed, hither and thither with no clear means of transmission. It was a subject that Ross, too, felt strongly about, and he talked about the extra help he had hired for the summer months, to help with the farm work. Could Dwight not do the same, he asked, but Killewarren already drew amply on the surrounding hamlets, and Dwight admitted that he had in fact sometimes felt the farm overstaffed. But more work could, and must be, found – they were both in agreement on that, for charity had its place, but give a man a decent, secure income and nine times out of ten, he would come up all right.

 

“It’s the children I feel for,” Ross admitted. He reached to pour another glass of brandy, and found the bottle empty. “Oh,” he said, holding the bottle up to the light. “Dwight, we appear to have drunk the whole of this bottle. I do apologise, I hope you didn’t want any left.”

 

“No, no,” said Dwight, waving a hand as if to say he couldn’t care less. He was not drunk – Ross had seen Dwight drunk before, and this was not it – but he was deeper in his cups than he normally allowed himself to be, nonetheless. It was a particularly good vintage, stronger than Ross’s usual selection of brandy, and he had to admit that he, too, was feeling rather less than sober. Still, that didn’t stop him from getting up and retrieving another bottle of brandy from the cupboard, lesser quality though it was.

 

“I mean,” he went on, “they’re brought up on almost nothing, barely clothed some of them – more, Dwight? – and there’s little enough one can do for them, except to employ the father, if there is one.”

 

“If there was a proper school,” Dwight sighed. “Why shouldn’t these children be taught to be literate, to improve their lot? They’re as intelligent as you or I. The dame schools – they should do more for the girls, more than just give them a bit of needlework or knitting. If they were taught a proper skill…”

 

Ross chuckled and poured himself another healthy measure of brandy. “We’ve had this discussion before, and we always come back to the basic fact that we are only two men, and cannot move mountains.”

 

“You know what Caroline would say to that!” Dwight laughed, shaking his head with a rueful look. “Men cannot move mountains, but women can move the world if they chose. That’s what she’d say.”

 

“And they show us so, too, God help us,” said Ross with a groan. He flung himself back into his chair, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. Women could move the world, indeed. That was what Caroline had proposed doing: moving their world, shifting the very foundations of their lives, in an attempt to create something new. And she was being aided and abetted by Demelza, by the cornerstone of Ross’s existence, the person upon whom all else depended. She would, he knew, remain so regardless of his decision, and yet Demelza’s obvious inclination for this wild scheme made it harder for Ross to deny that part of him – and perhaps an increasingly large part of him – was attracted to the idea.

 

“Why did you come tonight, Dwight?” he asked, opening his eyes. His mood had turned so melancholic that he could not help but ask. “Where do you stand, in all of this? Caroline’s mind I know, and Demelza’s, but not yours.”

 

Dwight hesitated for so long that Ross was almost sure he would not answer, but at last Dwight took a deep breath and let it out. He put down his glass and leaned forwards, elbows braced on his knees, fingers laced together.

 

“I am determined not to lose your friendship, come what may,” he said slowly. “I do not think you realise how much you have given me over the years, Ross. In fact – speaking quite without exaggeration, I think it’s fair to say that you have saved my life several times over.” Ross scoffed, but Dwight went on before he could offer any other protest. “No, it’s true,” he said. “Both in a literal sense and in other ways…your confidence in me, after Keren, was for a time utterly invaluable. And then of course you came for me in France…”

 

“Anyone would have done the same,” muttered Ross, not eager to hear praise for something that he had always felt he’d had no choice but to do.

 

“No, they would not,” Dwight retorted. “You do yourself a disservice to think so. But be that as it may, I will _not_ let this come between us.” He was looking straight at Ross, and Ross met his eyes and then had to look away. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Dwight was a man of great determination. He could be so softly spoken, his manner as a doctor so gentle and sensitive, that even Ross could forget, at times, that a core of hard iron ran beneath the surface. If Dwight was determined that they should remain friends, it would take a great deal to dissuade him – and since Ross was just as keen not to lose the friendship, there was no reason to gainsay him.

 

He drank some more brandy. He would most likely regret drinking like this, in the morning, for Dwight’s bottle had not been a small one and the glasses were generous, but he felt he needed it, for this conversation. A headache in the morning would be a small price to pay, and Demelza always tended towards sympathy, on the occasions – rare, in recent years – when Ross overindulged and woke with a dry mouth and a pounding head.

 

“I agree,” he said at length. “I would not like it to come between us – to come between _any_ of us, for you know I value Caroline’s friendship too, and Demelza…she cares for you both.” More than cared, Ross might have said, but he wasn’t certain how deep her feelings had begun to run, and in any event, it was not Ross’s place to speak on her behalf. “But saying so doesn’t answer my question,” he added.

 

“No.” Dwight picked up his own glass, and Ross watched as Dwight swallowed once, twice, three times. Ross was peculiarly pleased to see that he wasn’t the only one to feel the need for assistance to get through this discussion. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. I…you were right in supposing that I never dreamed of anything like this.” Ross nodded, but Dwight wasn’t looking at him. He was staring down at his brandy, brow furrowed in a thoughtful frown. Dwight said nothing more for a few moments, and then he glanced up and offered Ross a rueful smile. “Strike me for saying so if you wish, but I have – I have admired Demelza, respected her, cared for her, even, for as long as I have known her.”

 

“Why would I –,” Ross began.

 

“I could very easily allow myself to fall in love with her,” Dwight cut across him. “And I cannot deny that lately I have found myself wondering what it would be like to kiss her.”

 

The words hung in the air between them. Ross stared, and Dwight met his gaze without flinching, but Ross could see Dwight’s trepidation. His lips were pressed firmly together, his eyes wide. His hand was steady, no tremble or shake to betray any hint of nerves, though Ross wouldn’t expect it from a surgeon of Dwight’s calibre. But Ross knew Dwight better than most, and he knew the small signs that betrayed Dwight’s emotions – just as Dwight surely knew his own tells. Dwight knew how Ross would feel, on hearing such an admission, and he was apprehensive about the response he would be given. He would be expecting jealousy, Ross knew. And indeed, Ross did feel that predictable rise of jealousy, of anger, and the briefest urge to hit the man who had admitted such a thing about Ross’s wife.

 

But this was Dwight. This was not any man, this was his friend, his comrade, and Ross had, after all, asked where Dwight stood on the matter. Ross slumped back in his chair, set aside his brandy and scrubbed his hands across his face.

 

“God knows I might have hit you for that in the past,” he groaned. “But now…” Now he had to acknowledge that he’d had identical thoughts and feelings for Caroline; Dwight was not alone in that. Ross dropped his hands and looked at Dwight again. Dwight had drained his glass while Ross had closed his eyes, and he held it loosely in his fingers. Ross contemplated pouring them each some more, but decided it might be wiser to forebear. “So we both are in agreement on one point,” he said. “In the spirit of reciprocity, I admit that I have recently wondered how it would feel to kiss _your_ wife.”

 

If Ross was expecting anger or outrage, then Dwight would have to disappoint him. His first reaction – the instant, near-instinctive thought – was not jealousy or anger. Dwight felt no urge to castigate Ross for either thinking about kissing Caroline or admitting so to Dwight. If those words had come from another man, then perhaps Dwight would react differently, but he did not, could not, feel angry with Ross. It was not a conscious response, this lack of anger; it came too quickly for that. But instead of jealousy, and for a few seconds that stretched out longer and longer, measured in the way his heartbeat seemed to roar in his ears, Dwight was caught up in imagining what it would look like, to see Caroline and Ross kissing.

 

Dwight had occasionally, in the past few weeks, allowed his gaze to linger a little on other men that he had seen or met. Whether for his own profession or as the owner of one of the more profitable estates in the county, Dwight was constantly among people, and had had ample time to test himself. He had looked at other men, when the situation had allowed it, letting himself – or making himself – glance them over, trying to decide if he found any of them attractive, or if he could ever imagine embracing any one of them. He’d been covert, of course. Nobody, he was sure, had suspected anything amiss, not least because Dwight had not had the slightest reaction to any one of them. On a purely aesthetic level he had been able to appreciate the more handsome men he met, but so he might admire a painting or a statue. There was no flicker of desire, no sudden awareness of another man’s presence. Nothing, in short, to indicate that Dwight was harbouring any latent deviant tendencies.

 

But set in contrast to that was the way he had begun to think about Ross, prompted by Caroline’s breathless, teasing comments when they had made love. From that very first suggestion that Ross might like to use his mouth, she had begun to build a desire in Dwight for Ross, and that desire was making itself very plain now, in this first meeting with Ross since Dwight had heard Caroline’s proposal. Ever since he had been admitted into Ross’s presence this evening, Dwight had felt himself to be conscious of Ross’s every movement, in a way that previously he had only felt towards women. The gesturing of Ross’s hands, the bob of his throat as he swallowed, the slight moisture left on his lip after taking a drink…Dwight had been aware of all of it. He could not lie to himself and say it was otherwise: he had developed an attraction for Ross, an attraction that seemed to be based not on any purely physical attributes – or else he would surely have found other men desirable – but on some quality inherent to Ross himself, as a unique individual.

 

No, the thought of Ross and Caroline kissing did not make Dwight jealous, though perhaps it ought to, for any husband would be justified in feeling outrage on hearing another man confess to harbouring thoughts about his wife. But Dwight was not a jealous man by nature, and his early misadventure in Cornwall had shown him the dangerous paths that jealousy could take a man down, cementing a disinclination for that emotion in him. And even were he of a jealous nature, even if he might be jealous or angry at being told by another man that his wife Caroline was coveted, even fantasised about – even if that were so, this was not any other man, this was Ross, and Dwight felt only the unmistakable sensations of lust. Faint though the signs were, he knew his own body’s reactions and had to acknowledge the way his mouth went dry suddenly, the way his breath caught in his throat, and the unmistakeable twitch of interest in his cock.

 

“I think,” Dwight began slowly, “that we can agree that Caroline – and Demelza, to an extent – have put thoughts in our minds that we would otherwise not have allowed.” A smile pulled at the corner of Ross’s mouth, and he quirked one eyebrow, as if something amused him. Dwight looked skywards and huffed, more a show of irritation than the real thing. “Yes, idle curiosity aside,” he said. “We are only human, after all – and each of us is as fallible as the next man. I’m aware, I assure you, that you and Caroline have always had…an affinity.” He had sometimes envied it, the utter ease with which his wife and his friend interacted, but envy was not the same as jealousy. He had always known that Caroline had no wish to be married to anyone but him, and even now, even with this proposition that they should all forge some kind of new intimacy, he knew that Caroline wished for no other husband, no other name but Enys.    

 

“We are only human,” Ross murmured. His half-smile was gone, his brow furrowed, and he looked not at Dwight but at something only he could see, off in some dark corner of the room. “Only men.”

 

Sluggish though he was after the amount of brandy he had downed this evening, Dwight was not anywhere near drunk enough to miss the significance of Ross’s words and of his sombre, almost forbidding expression. This was the crux of the matter, Dwight knew, for both of them. They were men. This thing, this tangling of relationships, the way Caroline had suggested they all fling marriage and desire and friendship into a melting pot and see what came out…it would not work if Ross could never find any sort of desire for Dwight, and it would not work if Dwight’s reactions proved to be insubstantial.

 

Dwight considered his next words carefully before speaking. “We are only men,” he agreed at length. He inhaled to say more, but then changed his mind, because Ross’s face, though he still did not look at Dwight, had developed a particular stoniness that Dwight knew was a warning sign.

 

Dwight had been going to comment on the things that went on in both the army and the navy – the couplings and pursuit of mutual satisfaction that took place in dark corners of barracks or ships. Generally a blind eye was turned on the participants, so long as it remained entirely discreet, but as a doctor, Dwight had more than once had to hear or see rather more about those kind of activities than he had wanted to know. The spread of sexual diseases through a company or a ship had occasionally told its own story. Dwight had intended to share a little of that with Ross, to remark that he had heard or seen or known about things that happened between men but that he himself had never dreamed of participating – as was true, he was sure, for Ross. But looking at Ross now, seeing the way that Ross was withdrawing again, Dwight decided that words would no longer be of much use.

 

He set aside his glass, placing it very carefully on the table. His hand was steady, but his heart was racing, as if he had run a mile or suffered from palpitations. Dwight moistened his lips. This would either be a success or a disaster, and he had no idea, not the _slightest_ idea which it would be. Ross had given him nothing, no clue, nothing more than those two words – ‘only men’. Dwight could guess that the idea discomfited Ross, could believe that Ross had never desired another man, but he had no idea whether Ross, like Dwight, had been stirred by new sensations over the past few weeks. Dwight’s actions now might offer insight, or might not. Either way, Dwight was throwing caution to the wind. Perhaps he was letting the brandy think for him. Certainly if it went wrong, he could try to excuse himself on that basis.

 

“It’s not something I ever thought about before,” he said. Ross looked at him quickly, sharply, but Dwight didn’t give him time to form a question. He stood up, crossed the space between them and, bracing his hands on the arms of Ross’s chair, bent down and kissed Ross.

 

It was hardly the best kiss Dwight had ever experienced, though it was not the worst, either. The position was poor, Dwight’s neck craning awkwardly as he stooped, and Ross did not lift his head to make things easier. Ross did nothing, in fact – he sat as still as if he was made of stone, motionless as Dwight pressed his mouth to Ross’s, words abandoned in an attempt, however futile, to convey that Dwight thought he could want this, too. Dwight didn’t know if it was shock or disgust that made Ross so still, but there was no going back now, and so he tilted his head a little, changing the angle of the kiss. It was still just a chaste meeting of lips, but at the same time there was something decidedly unchaste about this kiss. Perhaps it was simply that they were both men, or perhaps it was the thrill of the forbidden and the unknown, but either way Dwight’s stomach was fluttering and Ross’s lips were wet and Dwight could taste the brandy on him. He wanted more; now that this first step had been taken, Dwight knew that he wanted more. He wanted to cup Ross’s face in his hands, he wanted to part Ross’s lips and explore him. He wanted to see if Ross did like to use his mouth, as Caroline had suggested, tongue and teeth and lips.

 

Dwight felt a hand touch his arm – whether to push him away or keep him there, he did not know. He dared not hope for the latter, and dreaded the former. But then fingers clenched around the fabric of his sleeve, and Ross inhaled sharply against his mouth, enough for Dwight to feel confident in flicking the tip of his tongue against Ross’s lower lip.

 

“Ross, I’ve brought you some – oh!”

 

The hand on Dwight’s arm turned into a shove, and Dwight stumbled away from Ross as they both turned to stare at the figure in the doorway.

 

Demelza had left the two men alone for several hours, busying herself in the kitchen and doing her best not to think about what might be going on in the parlour. Ross and Dwight had both looked like naughty schoolboys, when she had returned from putting the children to bed and discovered the two of them in the parlour. It was almost as if she had caught them in some misbehaviour, stealing treats from the kitchen or preparing to play some trick on someone. Ross had, in fact, borne the same expression that Demelza had seen on his daughter’s face, not three hours before when Clowance had been trying to pretend she hadn’t been chasing the cat. Demelza had known at once that she must leave them alone to talk, but it had not been easy to close the door behind her and walk away.

 

Still, she had done it, and Demelza kept away from the parlour for an hour and then two, filling her time with an extra baking of bread and sweet pastries for the children to have the next day. Time crept onward, and eventually she told the servants to clear the parlour in the morning, and dismissed them to bed. Then she put together a tray of food for Ross and Dwight, certain that they ought to eat something to go with all the brandy they were no doubt consuming. The parlour door was still shut, and Demelza stared at it for a moment, her ears straining to hear any sound. But she heard nothing, and she refused to knock for entrance to her own parlour, so she turned the handle and pushed the door open.

 

“Ross, I’ve brought you some – oh!”

 

If Demelza had harboured expectations, they had not encompassed what she saw now. She had not imagined, knowing Ross’s reservations as she did, that she might open the parlour door and find her husband kissing another man – or at least, being kissed, for in the brief moment Demelza had to look, before the two men sprang apart, Ross seemed more a passive recipient than anything else. But her entrance stopped whatever had been going on, and Demelza herself was so confused by what she had so briefly glimpsed, so full of different thoughts and emotions, that she could not be entirely sure of what she saw, either before Dwight and Ross had parted or in Ross’s expression when he looked at her now.

 

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. She felt her cheeks begin to burn hot with a blush, and she found that she could not look at either of them. “I didn’t mean – I brought some –,” She faltered. Neither Ross nor Dwight spoke. Demelza managed to glance up at them, and found them both staring at the floor, Dwight pale and Ross red-cheeked. She was unaccountably reminded of how she had thought of them earlier, when she had come in and found Dwight here: like two naughty schoolboys, caught in a misdemeanour. Dwight, particularly, bore an unmistakeable air of guilt. “I brought some fruit and cheese,” Demelza said at length. “I – I’ll just leave it here.” She put the tray on a side table, only a pace or two into the room. Then, before either Ross or Dwight could speak, she turned and retreated down the hallway. She didn’t stop to pick up a candle but went straight up the stairs in the dark, and into the seclusion of her bedroom.

 

Demelza knew Ross would not be long in following her, but she needed a few minutes alone to try to comprehend what she had seen and how it had made her feel. It had barely been a handful of seconds, if that, before Ross and Dwight had parted. It had been almost too quick for her to register all that she had witnessed. She had seen that Ross had hardly been engaged in the kiss – but now that she was away from them, now that she was alone in the dark coolness of her bedroom, she could remember that Ross’s hand had been on Dwight’s arm, and she could think that Ross’s flushed face might have been shock or guilt, or might have been from something else entirely. His chest had been heaving, Demelza recalled, as if his heart had been pounding hard, as if breathing had been set aside as unnecessary while Dwight had been kissing him.

 

Or, she had to admit, as if he had been shocked, or disgusted, or angry. She knew that must be more likely, from what little he had said on the matter since she had first relayed Caroline’s proposition to him. Ross had never desired another man, and she knew that. It was more likely that he had been angry, more likely that anger and brandy had put that redness in his face. Wanting something to be true did not make it true; she knew what Ross had said before, knew that he had disclaimed any ability to desire a man. It was most likely anger that had made him look as he had. But oh, how Demelza wanted it to be an awakening of desire in him. She had been telling the truth, earlier, when she had told Ross that if he could not see a way to feeling more, then she would accept that and understand it and their happiness would not be one whit reduced. That didn’t mean that she hadn’t begun to yearn for more, for the possibility that Caroline – and Dwight, to an extent – had offered to her and to Ross.

 

And seeing Ross being kissed by Dwight made Demelza _yearn_. It made her feel breathless and shivery and excited, almost as she had felt when Caroline had kissed her and when she had kissed Caroline in return. There had been no sting of jealousy in seeing it, and now, away from the men and able to dwell on it, she still felt no jealousy, only a kind of envy that it had happened without her there to witness and to partake.

 

She touched her lips with cold, trembling fingers. She imagined what it would feel like. Two faces against hers, both rough with stubble. Lips meeting, tongues stroking and licking, tangled together until she didn’t know who was who, which mouth belonged to which man. Demelza trailed her fingertips across her jaw, down her throat. And Caroline, she thought, Caroline too, part of the kiss somehow, all four of them together. There would be mouths and hands everywhere, she might reach out and touch somebody and not know who it was. She would not care who it was; it would not matter. Her hand drifted lower and she cupped her breast as best she could through layers of clothes and stays. She ached with it, this fantasy that had been prompted by seeing Ross and Dwight together like that. She _ached_.

 

The sound of Ross’s footsteps on the stairs disturbed her from her reverie, and Demelza started, and sprang away from the door. She went across to the dressing table and fumbled for a match to light the candle. Her hands were still shaking, and she wasted two matches before finally managing to hold one steady enough to catch at the candle’s wick, just as the bedroom door swung open to admit Ross. Demelza didn’t dare look at him, but she was acutely aware of him nonetheless. He stepped into the room, shut the door behind him, and then he stood where Demelza had stood just a few moments before. Still she did not dare look. She began to fumble with the buttons of her blouse.

 

“Has Dwight gone, then?” she asked, her voice artificially bright. “Was he fit to ride? ‘Twas no small bottle he brought, and I saw you’d started another. He could have stopped here, it wouldn’t have taken a minute to make up the bed in the guest bedroom.”

 

“Demelza,” said Ross quietly. 

 

“Though I dare say you’ve both been more worse the wear. I hope you offered, though,” Demelza rambled. She managed to finish unbuttoning her blouse and shrugged it off. “Clowance tore another frock today, did I tell you? A great big rip at the waist and shoulders. Goodness knows what she was doing.”

 

“Demelza,” Ross said again, stepping close to her. Demelza tried to busy herself with folding the blouse neatly, but Ross’s hand landed on her shoulder, and she jumped and skittered away from him, like a frightened animal. The blouse dropped to the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, Demelza saw Ross flinch. “Are you so angry with me?” he asked her, his voice a rasping whisper. “It was – it was _nothing_ , Demelza, and certainly not of my seeking.”

 

“I’m not angry,” Demelza gasped. “I – I’m not _angry_ , Ross, I’m…” She couldn’t finish speaking, she couldn’t admit to him how little it would take, now, to kindle her body into full-fledged arousal. Even that touch on her shoulder had made her skin tingle with anticipation, with longing. She couldn’t look at him, either. If she looked, she was sure he would see it in her face. With her head lowered and her eyes downcast, perhaps he might not see how flushed she still was, and nor how her heart thumped loud in her chest, her breast heaving with it. Between her legs, her quim seemed to throb in time with her heartbeat, a familiar heat growing there with no need of further encouragement.

 

“Oh,” breathed Ross. “You – you liked it?” Demelza pressed her lips together, not trusting herself to speak, but she managed a jerky nod of her head. “My love…” He cleared his throat, and Demelza risked a glance up at him. There was a focus in his expression that she knew well, and it made her stare, for she had not expected it. Not when he’d said he could never feel desire for a man. She had expected him to come up to their bedroom and brush it all off as a drunken misadventure, and to tell her that the whole scheme was quite out of the question and she must set it aside. She had not expected him to find him looking at her as if he could see right through her clothes. As if he, too, was aroused – though whether by her state of being or by what had happened downstairs, or both, Demelza could not say.

 

Ross moistened his lips. “Show me,” he commanded. Demelza looked confused, and Ross took a step forward and gestured at her remaining clothes. “Show me,” he rasped. “Let me see you.”

 

Ross had been too stunned, downstairs, to react to Dwight’s unanticipated move. For a moment he had been sure that he was asleep, for surely Dwight would never do such a thing – and yet Ross had been awake, and the press of a mouth against his was real, as was the strange, unaccountable urge rising within Ross to respond. He had put his hand on Dwight’s arm to push him away, but had instead grasped a handful of Dwight’s sleeve, as if his body was acting of its own accord. Then Demelza had come into the room, and Dwight had sprung back as if scalded, and Ross had leapt to his feet, reaching out for Demelza, words dying on his tongue before he could gain the courage to speak them. But she had fled, and Dwight had gone with barely a muttered ‘goodbye’, and Ross had stood in the empty parlour for a few minutes, mind blank, mouth dry, stomach churning.

 

He had expected to find anger, when he had at last followed Demelza to their bedroom. Anger, or jealousy, or perhaps some sort of upset that Ross had allowed a kiss to happen without her knowing about it, which was what she had seemed most upset about earlier in the day, when he had tested her feelings by deceiving her into thinking he had kissed Caroline. He had not expected to find Demelza in such a state of need. She had clearly been affected by seeing Dwight kiss Ross, and not in an unhappy way. Ross could already feel his cock beginning to stir, his own passions enflamed by seeing her so visibly aroused. And his own appetite had already been stoked, he had to admit; whatever it was that Dwight had elicited in him, Ross could not deny, at least to himself, that there had been some measure of physical response in it.

 

“Let me see,” he said again, because Demelza was still standing there, her arms slack at her sides. He wanted to see – he _needed_ to see – the effect that had been produced in her by seeing Dwight kiss him. Demelza pressed a hand against her stomach, and the other began to pluck at the strings of her skirt, but she was too slow, and Ross closed the gap between them, reaching out for her, determined to speed her along. She tried to move away from him, but he put his hands at her waist and held her close to him. He lowered his head, found her throat with his mouth and kissed the fast beat of her pulse. Demelza moaned, a breathless sound that made Ross’s cock twitch. He kissed her pulse again.

 

“Ross,” she gasped. “Ross, I’ll – if you touch me I’ll explode.” It was, Ross seemed to remember, about the right time of the month for her to be so sensitive, but that was not the whole of it. Clearly she had liked what she had seen, downstairs, chaste and one-sided though the kiss had been. Her breath hitched when he kissed her throat once more, her hands flew up to rest on his shoulders. “ _Ross_ ,” she breathed. “Clothes – let me –,”

 

They parted, with a mutual but unspoken agreement that clothes should be discarded as quickly as possible. Ross struggled with his stock and then with the buttons of his waistcoat, and cursed his boots as Demelza, ahead of him, made quick work of the hooks of her stays. He was still wearing his breeches and stockings when she drew her shift over her head and revealed her glorious body to him, and he fell idle as he stared at her, mesmerised by the way the candlelight played over her skin. Sometimes it felt that he was seeing her for the very first time, no matter that he had seen her thus on too many nights to count. Those long legs that he loved to stroke his hands down. Her breasts, perfect to cup in his hands, her nipples already hardened peaks. There were the faintest of silvery marks on her stomach that told of childbearing, marks that he loved to kiss and nuzzle. The thatch of red curls at her mound, concealing her quim from him. She must already be wet. The thought made him gulp down a breath of air, and he pressed the heel of his palm to his cock, through his breeches.

 

Then – _oh_ , then Demelza slid a hand across her stomach, over her abdomen, and her fingers delved beneath those curls and into her quim. She moaned, and Ross cursed, pulling so hard at the placket of his breeches that a button went flying, landing somewhere near the dressing table with a clink. She moaned again, her fingers moving. He shoved aside the breeches, didn’t bother with his stockings, caught her in his arms once more and kissed her. He pressed her back against the wall, trapping her against it, swallowing the soft sounds she made. He delved into her mouth, explored every part of her, tasted her, and Demelza arched up against him. Ross nudged a leg between hers. She understood his idea at once, without needing to be prompted, and she spread her legs, grasped hold of his shoulders, and began to rub herself against his thigh.

 

“So wet,” he groaned. “Dear God – Demelza –,” He was fully hard now, his cock pressing against her hip, but he could tell that she wouldn’t last long enough, this time, for them to reach their pleasure together. He mouthed at her neck, and found a breast by feel alone. He cupped it in his hand, that glorious handful of sensitive flesh, and tugged the nipple between thumb and forefinger. Demelza cried out, rocking against his leg. Not yet; she was not quite there yet. “So wet,” he marvelled again, feeling it on his thigh, feeling the way she slid against him. “You want it that much, sweetheart?”

 

“Yes,” Demelza hissed. “Yes – Ross –,”

 

“Just from seeing Dwight and I kiss,” he muttered. He scraped his teeth across her pulse and twisted her nipple slightly in his fingers. Demelza seemed to lack the breath to make any audible sound; her panting filled his ears. Not much more, he judged. She was undulating against him, the wall at her back and his thigh between her legs giving her leverage enough to move as much as she wanted, and oh, she wanted. He could _smell_ her arousal. Ross nipped at her throat, at her racing pulse. “Come for me,” he whispered. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me hear you.” He plucked at her nipple again. In this state, he knew, she wouldn’t need much more than this. Her breasts were so sensitive, at this time of the month before her courses, that he’d often been able to bring her to a peak just by touching them, just by massaging the mounds of flesh and toying with her nipples, with fingers or his mouth or both. Ross relished those times. Her reactions were always intoxicating, her orgasms intense, and afterwards, after he’d made her come like that, he could sink his cock into her wet heat and she would peak again, almost at once. He would do that tonight, he resolved. He pressed his cock against her hip, grinding against her. The way she was moving was giving him a little friction, but nothing like enough to assuage the need that only seemed to grow with every moment. He would never have imagined she might respond like this to the idea of he and Dwight, and her wild need was leading him onto paths he had previously refused to tread.

 

“Imagine,” he said hoarsely, “imagine doing this with them.” He didn’t know why he said it, hadn’t intended to say anything of the sort, but as soon as the words were spoken, he could picture it vividly. Dwight and Caroline beside them, with lithe bodies and wandering hands and soft murmurs. Demelza’s breath caught in her throat, like a sob. Ross felt her fingers digging into his shoulders. “More than one mouth…imagine their mouths sucking at your nipples while I –,” He kissed her again, and Demelza arched and shuddered, half-sobbing as she peaked, her hips stuttering against his leg, her legs giving way until he was all that was holding her up. She shook in his arms, gasping for breath when he ended the kiss, and lust burned in his veins.

 

“Have to have you,” he groaned. “Have to –,” Demelza was nodding, but she seemed unable to move, still trembling, as if she was still cresting the wave of her orgasm. Ross hiked her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. He meant to lay her down carefully, but she pulled him with her, her grip on him suddenly strong again, and he tumbled down on top of her in a tangle of limbs.

 

“Now,” she commanded. “ _Now_ , Ross.”

 

He reached between them, grasped his cock in his hand and guided it to her entrance. In a moment he was inside her, deep as he could be, surrounded by her. It was bliss, it was glorious, the wetness of her, the way he could feel her clench around him. She dragged her nails down his chest, not hard enough to mark but enough to smart a little, and Ross took her unspoken hint. He began to thrust, rocking in and out of her, and now that they were lying down he could reach her breasts with his mouth, could suckle at her nipples the way he had imagined Caroline and Dwight doing.

 

“Judas,” Demelza wept. “Judas, Ross – Ross –,” It was too much for her. Ross’s fierce desire, her own wayward fantasies, and then what he’d _said_ – it was too much, her heart was too full and her body too sensitive. His tongue swirled around one nipple, his fingers plucked at the other, the rhythm of it matching the rhythm of his hips, his cock sliding out and then sinking back down into her core. The sound of it was almost obscene as flesh met flesh, as he drove into her, her sex so wet that she could _hear_ their joining, as well as feel it. She arched up into him, desperate, her hands roving across his torso, his shoulders, fingers combing through his hair. Almost, she was almost there again, though in truth she felt as though she had never really left her peak. Her nub was throbbing and her breasts ached and all of her was crying out for him. “Ross,” she managed to say. “Ross – _ohh_!” It hit her again, like gunpowder, knocking the air from her lungs and making her helpless in her own body, helpless to do anything but let it carry her along. Ross moaned something against her breast, the movement of his hips faltering as her core clenched around him, and in another moment he peaked too, spilling his seed inside her.

 

For a while they lay together, shuddering. Demelza felt tremors running through her whole body. Every tiny movement he made seemed magnified, his cock still sheathed in her sending little rippling aftershocks through her quim. It was neither pleasure nor pain, but somewhere in between, and though she loved to be so close to Ross, she was not sorry when he sighed, withdrew from her, and rolled off her to lie on the bed.

 

“Well,” he said. “Trust me when I say I do not object to the result, but I had no idea you felt so strongly about it.”

 

“Neither did I,” she said honestly. “I’d no idea.” She’d entertained the idea, of course – Ross and Dwight together, the two of them with her, and all four of them together. But somehow those idle wonderings had been shallow, based on speculation as they had been. Seeing Ross and Dwight kiss, even such a chaste embrace, had given a solid foundation to her fantasies that had flared up into intense passion. It had, she knew, been aided by her body’s sensitivity, with her courses due to begin, but Demelza could not give that the whole credit for her responses. No, she had enjoyed – more than enjoyed – seeing her husband and her friend like that, and enjoyed the thought of them doing more, and oh, how she had enjoyed Ross’s tempting suggestion that she imagine Dwight and Caroline with them, each at a breast while Ross kissed her.

 

She turned onto her side and tucked herself against Ross, slinging a leg over one of his and settling her head on his chest. She listened to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, his fingers tracing soft circles on her skin. She was damp and slightly sticky, sweat coating her whole body, but she could not get up and wash yet. Not now. She felt as if they had crossed some bridge, this evening, and she felt somehow as if she needed to hold onto Ross for a while longer before she moved.

 

“Well,” he said again, eventually, “we would have to think where it would happen. I don’t like the thought of it being here, in our bedroom.”

 

Demelza sat upright and stared down at him. His expression was lazy, his eyes glittering in the candlelight, his mouth twisted a little as if he wanted to smile at her but was trying to forebear.

 

“Ross!” she exclaimed. “You’re not saying you _want_ it, after all this time saying ‘twas a foolish notion?” Ross shrugged one shoulder. Demelza pushed her hair behind her ears and shook her head, bewildered by this sudden change. “You mustn’t,” she said, distress rising to replace the contentment, the comfort, she had felt only a few moments before. “You _mustn’t_ , Ross.”

 

“Oh, mustn’t I?” Ross returned, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. “Why not?”

 

“You must feel it too, truly feel it. For you, not just on my account. You mustn’t – you mustn’t agree because you think I can’t be happy otherwise.” She faltered at the look he gave her, seeing his impatience, but she had to try again despite him. “I’ve told you,” she said. “Over and over, I’ve said I shall understand if you cannot love them, or want them, and I _mean_ it, Ross, and for you to say you might think of it, after what just happened…what can I think but that you’re agreeing for my sake?”

 

“Demelza,” Ross sighed. “Come back down here.”

 

“No! You can’t –,”

 

“Come back down here,” he interrupted her. Demelza drew breath to speak again, but Ross stroked his hand up and down her arm, and then clasped her hand with his. She pressed her lips together tightly, not at all sure she was willing to be pacified. He sighed again. “Listen to me for a minute, will you?” he asked, tugging at her hand. “Come on. Come here, love.” The endearment persuaded her. She allowed herself to be pulled back down, and settled against him as she had been before. Ross put his arm around her waist, as if he was tethering her to him. She felt she needed it, needed to be tethered to him, so thrown did she feel by him seeming to change his mind, and so abhorrent did she find the idea that he would agree for her sake. But he was silent for a while, and the longer the silence lasted, the more anxious Demelza felt. She couldn’t break it – he had asked her to listen, and so she would listen, whenever he was ready to speak – but the silence seemed to wear on her, becoming a physical weight with each passing moment.

 

“I’m not agreeing,” he said at last. “Not…precisely. I suppose you might say that I have become more open to the possibility.”

 

Demelza shifted a little. “Why, Ross?” she asked softly. “Why now, and not before?”

 

“I couldn’t tell you with any surety.” Ross paused, and Demelza had to close her eyes and school herself to patience. Then he continued: “I suppose it’s partly what Dwight did, downstairs – and partly the way you’ve reacted to it – and, no doubt, it’s partly my own recklessness.”

 

“Oh, Ross,” Demelza murmured. No doubt he was right in naming his recklessness as a factor. He had always had a reckless streak in him, though she knew that he had endeavoured to curb it, these last few years. And his increased responsibilities – to his family, to his tenants and workers, and to the county for which he was a Member of Parliament – had helped quell those tendencies in him, too. Still, it was as much part of him as any other aspect of his character. She had long since accepted and understood it. If he was becoming reckless in this, if he was tempted to jump headlong into it and deal with any harmful consequences later – well, she could not be surprised.

 

“Though I swore I’d never risk your happiness again,” Ross added. “And this is a risk. There’s no doubt about that.”

 

“No, there’s not,” she had to agree. “But is anything in life without risk?” Ross hummed, as if in agreement, but Demelza felt she had to continue. “Every day men go down the mine knowing it could be their last day,” she said, “or sail out to see knowing they could drown. And women bear children and give birth –,”

 

“If you’re trying to give me reasons to agree, you might forebear pointing out those risks to yourself from which I cannot guard you,” Ross said dryly. “And don’t think I don’t see the irony in _you_ pushing _me_ to take a risk.” Demelza sighed, and turned her head a little to press a kiss to his chest, but said nothing. Outside, the wind picked up and a light rain began to patter at the roof and windows. It began to feel cooler, and she reached out to pull the blankets up and over them both. Ross helped her, tucking the blankets around her shoulders. “There are things that would have to be agreed,” he said as he did so. “There are lines I will not cross, nor would let Dwight cross. For my sake, and for all of us, I think it would be better if we did not tempt jealousy.”

 

“D’you mean –,” Demelza cut herself off. There was no reason for the question; she knew what Ross meant. He meant that he would not have Caroline, would not _take_ her – and that Dwight, in turn, would not have Demelza. She felt her cheeks heat, though she knew there was no reason to be embarrassed. Ross had alluded to it once before, after all, and she had admitted to her own discomfort, though slighter than his, at the idea of seeing him joining with another, even if that other was Caroline.

 

“Yes,” said Ross, unnecessarily. “Yes, I do mean.” He listened, half-fearful, for any protest from her, even a change in her breathing, but there was nothing. She kept breathing evenly, and she said nothing. He was glad of it; he felt that any sign of protest would have been a sign that proceeding would be too great a risk to take. If what she wanted from this was intercourse with another man – the kind of deep intimacy that Ross wanted to be always reserved for themselves alone – then Caroline’s idea must be killed off, before any of them became further entangled. But Demelza offered no objection, and he allowed the fear to recede. “After all,” he added, “there are other things. As you yourself said.”

 

“There are,” she agreed. “But I think these sort of things…I think if we are to think of these things, to work out what we will and will not allow…I think we ought to be speaking with Caroline and Dwight, not just between us.”

 

The fear returned, and a rising instinct to jealousy. “Why?” he demanded. “You mean to say that you want that? You want to – with Dwight?” He couldn’t say it, any more than she had been able to. The words seemed to get stuck in his throat, almost choking him. The idea of another man taking Demelza, of _having_ her in the way that Ross wanted to keep for himself…it was not one he could live with. And if Demelza wanted it, if she argued for it…

 

“That is _not_ what I said,” she retorted. She made a movement, as if she wanted to sit up, but Ross tightened his grip on her, and after a few seconds she relaxed against him again. “I did _not_ say that, Ross,” she said. There was an edge to her voice that he didn’t like hearing, but he knew it was his own fault. “And it’s unfair of you to – to put words in my mouth.”

 

Ross exhaled. “Yes, it was,” he said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did.”

 

“You were jealous,” Demelza said bluntly. “But Ross, I didn’t say that I wanted that, and it’s true. If ‘twas only about – about _that_ , then I’d never have got so drawn into it. And if you were jealous, properly jealous, you’d never have said…the thing you said, earlier. So I think that maybe ‘tis more of an instinct.”

 

“No, I would not have said what I said, if I were truly jealous,” he had to agree. “And you didn’t say you wanted it. I know you did not.” He had to admit that out loud, for it would be unfair to let Demelza suppose that he still thought otherwise. Now that the initial, instinctive reaction was over, he could acknowledge that she had never been one to succumb to a mere physical excitement, and it was clear enough that her heart had been deeply stirred by Caroline and Dwight. This arrangement, this proposal, was not, for Demelza, based on physical attraction. Or not entirely so, at least. And she was right; if he had felt true jealousy, if he had felt that old mix of anger and resentment and betrayal, then he would never have brought the idea of Dwight and Caroline into their lovemaking. The instinct – and Demelza was right to call it so – had been too quick to control. Somehow Ross had to try to unlearn that quick jealousy, to disentangle what he had felt before, for Hugh Armitage, with what he felt now when he thought of Demelza and Dwight, and of the four of them together. The feelings were not the same.

 

The brandy, he reflected wryly, was likely not helping his ability to think clearly.

 

“I think you are probably right, my love,” he said after a while. “If these discussions are to be had, they ought to involve all of us. It would not be fair to any of us for decisions to be taken without talking it all over. But on this one point I hold firm. I don’t know what I will feel, if and when we take this road, but I know what I feel now when I think of Dwight having you.”

 

He felt Demelza nodding. “Of course,” she murmured. “I don’t disagree, Ross. And anyway…” She trailed off. Ross waited for a moment to see if she would continue, and then he nudged her gently. “Oh,” she sighed, “I was just thinking that even if none of us was jealous, I’d still not want to.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I don’t want Dwight’s children,” she said. He choked. “I want my children to be yours,” she went on, “and since there’s no sure way of stopping pregnancy, if a man and a woman lie together, then ‘tis best we don’t take the chance.”

 

Ross stared up at the canopy roof of the bed, and listened to the rain that had begun to pound against the windows. It struck him that this whole conversation was perhaps the most surreal he had ever had. It was absurd, to be lying in bed with his wife discussing details of how they might both be intimate with others without compromising what they had together. It was lunacy for him to be actively contemplating such an arrangement – lunacy in the extreme, for he’d heard of more than one case of men being committed to asylums as lunatics for being inclined towards other men. But even setting that aside, even using the word in a layman’s sense, this was an insane conversation. It was the most bizarre, the most extraordinary conversation he could ever recall having or hearing. And suddenly he could see the humorous side of it, the absurdity so extreme that it made him want to laugh. He tried to swallow down his inappropriate mirth, pressed his lips together and closed his eyes and tried to think of something else. But his chest began to shake, chuckles building up irrepressibly, and after a moment Demelza moved and lifted herself up enough to look at him, and though the sight of her confusion should have sobered him, it had the reverse effect. Ross started laughing, deep belly laughs that shook his whole body.

 

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, “I’m sorry – but –,” He had to break off, laughter taking all of his breath. Tears leaked from his eyes. After a few minutes Demelza began to laugh too, as if the mirth was infectious. “It’s just – it’s just all so absurd,” Ross managed. “This wh-whole conversation –,”

 

“Judas, it is,” Demelza giggled. “Oh – oh, I can’t breathe!”

 

“Ever – ever since I got back from London,” he gasped out, “ever since –,” He flung an arm over his mouth to muffle his laughter. Demelza fell onto him, shaking from mirth as much as he was, her laughter carefree and delightful to hear. Ross hugged her close to him, with as much strength as remained in his limbs, and she tucked her face against his neck so her giggling breaths tickled at him. Ever since he had returned from London, he wanted to say, his world had been in disarray, as if somebody had taken all the pieces of it, flung them in the air, and let them land in new, awkward positions. He had struggled to come to terms with it, struggled to come to any conclusions, and even now he did not feel he could give Demelza a clear and firm commitment. But he could, at least for the moment, take a step back and acknowledge the ridiculousness of it all.

 

And quite apart from his own feelings, and the apparent need for him to express some of it in a way that did not include words, he had always loved to hear her laugh. That his laughter had led to hers was hardly unexpected, but he counted it as a blessing nonetheless.

 

At length they both sobered. Ross wiped tears from his face. His stomach hurt from the strength of his laughter, but it was a good hurt, and would ease momentarily. Demelza lay limp across him, as if her mirth had exhausted her. As if she planned to simply close her eyes and fall asleep so, her face against his neck, her hand on his shoulder, her legs tangled with his. He wouldn’t mind if she did, though he was certain it wouldn’t be comfortable for her all night long.

 

“Whatever else, we must not lose this, my love,” he murmured after a while. “We must always…always be able to love and laugh like this.”

  
“Oh, yes,” Demelza agreed drowsily. She yawned widely; it was as contagious as the laughter had been, and Ross yawned too. She hummed a little, as if amused, and then she rubbed her cheek against his chest. “Yes,” she repeated. “We must have this, always.”

 

He stroked his thumb across her skin, reassured that she seemed as determined as he, on this point. “I’ll invite them here, one evening,” he said. “For supper. We can talk to them then.”

 

“Mm,” she murmured. She yawned again, and spoke around it. “Or a picnic tea in the cove next week, maybe, if the weather’s fine…once Jeremy’s home for summer. He and Clowance would look after Bella and Sophie, we could all talk…” She was nearly asleep, and Ross smiled and let her be. He would write, in a week or so when Demelza’s courses were over, and invite Dwight and Caroline for a picnic in Nampara Cove on the next suitably sunny day. It was most likely a better plan than his own. Daylight might serve to make the conversation less intimate, despite the subject matter, and with the children present – albeit at a distance – there could be no idea of anything…well, of anything _happening_. It would be conversation only, a discussing and agreeing of boundaries and rules. Yes, on the whole Ross thought Demelza’s plan was best.

 

Accordingly, some ten days later he sent a note over to Killewarren suggesting that the Enyses should come the following day and enjoy a picnic with the Poldarks. Demelza, Ross wrote, said that the weather would prove fine, and she was usually right in such matters, so unless Dwight or Caroline had some prior engagement, he and Demelza would expect to see them at around two on the following afternoon.

 

It happened that Dwight was at home when the note arrived, and so it was brought to him in his study. He read it once quickly, and again more slowly, trying to work out if there was anything hidden between the lines – anything other than the fact that the writer had evidently been in a hurry, or at least so Dwight judged from the untidy scrawl and the smudged ink blot in a lower corner. There seemed to be nothing more. To all appearances, it was a perfectly innocent invitation, of the kind that frequently went between Nampara and Killewarren in either direction. And so it might be, but for the fact that a little less two weeks before, Dwight had kissed Ross and then fled. He had feared Ross’s disapprobation, had feared that he had ruined their friendship, but as each day had passed since then, Dwight had grown more and more ashamed of how he had acted. Getting drunk with Ross, practically taking advantage of Ross’s insobriety, that was one thing – but then _fleeing_. That was the worst part of the whole affair, for Dwight had never believed himself to be a coward, and yet that was how he felt, because he had fled without giving Ross any chance to respond, to retaliate.

 

Caroline, who had of course been told the whole story as soon as Dwight returned home, had repeatedly tried to assure him that he was far from cowardly, but she would have been more convincing if she herself had not begun to grow listless and irritable, as day after day passed with no word from Nampara. It was so unlike her that yesterday Dwight had insisted on examining her closely, in case she was sickening with something. But the cause was not physical, and the treatment could only be provided by an answer, one way or the other, from Ross. This note from Nampara gave no clue as to what that answer might be.

 

“It’s signed from both of them,” Caroline pointed out, when he took the letter to her in the parlour. “Ross wrote it, but it’s from them both. What do you think that means?” She looked a little pale today; she had slept as well as usual, or he would blame it on fatigue. It was unhappiness that made her so drawn, and Dwight wondered, as he had wondered more than once over the last few days, if she _could_ truly be contented in their marriage if Ross said no. He had wondered if she had not, in opening this door, closed another. It was not a happy thought, and he had tried to push it away, but it crept back insistently at odd moments, particularly when Caroline’s anxiety was most palpable. Though he was sure that she would be less unsettled once she had an answer, either yea or nay, still the nagging doubt would not go away.

 

“I think it means they are both inviting us to Nampara for a picnic,” he said gently to Caroline. “As they have done before and, I hope, will do again.”

 

Caroline scowled down at the innocuous piece of paper. “They’ve invited us before,” she agreed, “but this is more than that. It must be. How can it be just an ordinary invitation?” Dwight shrugged; he had no answer to give her. Caroline expelled a breath sharply, irritably. “You’re no use,” she said. “They invite all of us – Sophie too – so I suppose nothing will be discussed, even if any decision has been made. I’ll have to be constantly watching after Sophie. And you know what Ross is like, when he has a chance to be with his children. He turns into a child himself, half the time.”

 

“I’m not so sure it will be like that, tomorrow,” Dwight disagreed. Then he conceded: “Though I take your point about Ross. I think he feels he’s away so much of the time, these days, that he must enjoy their childhoods while he’s here. Jeremy is growing so quickly, and it won’t be long before Clowance goes to school, too. As for Sophie, I dare say Jeremy and Clowance will take good care of her and Bella both. Jeremy’s got a good head on his shoulders, and Sophie adores Clowance.”

 

“Well…perhaps that’s true.” Caroline folded the note and pushed it away from her, across the parlour table. “But nothing can be discussed, can it? With the children there.”

 

“Not when we’re eating, maybe, but when they’re running around playing, there will probably be an opportunity,” said Dwight, amused at her petulance despite himself. “We won’t know unless we go, Caroline, and as Demelza’s weather sense is remarkably accurate, I see no reason not to. Sophie will enjoy it, and perhaps…” He paused, and then he reached out to wrap one of her perfectly curled locks of hair around his finger. “Perhaps you’ll get the answer you want,” he said, “or perhaps the answer you don’t want. But I think it’s reasonable to assume you will get an answer tomorrow, if we go.”

 

Caroline caught Dwight’s hand in hers before he could retract it. “I know you’re worried,” she murmured. “I wish you knew you didn’t have to be.”

 

Dwight smiled, just a little, but it felt bittersweet. “I still have moments where I doubt the reality of my life,” he admitted. “Not often, but…occasionally.” Caroline squeezed his hand gently. She said nothing, but her expression was filled with a compassion that she rarely showed to anyone else. “Every once in a while, I wake in the night and have to reach out and touch you,” Dwight said. “Just to make sure you’re real.” Flesh and blood lying beside him in the bed. His wife, real and solid and warm. To nobody else would he admit such things, but this was Caroline, his dearest Caroline. She had suffered as much as he had, during their early partings, and after that longest, most difficult of separations – after Ross had rescued him from the French prison camp – Caroline had nursed him through the darkest days, and knew that the mental scars had lingered longer than the physical ones. “So you must see that I am completely assured of your love,” Dwight went on. “I know I have that. And I know we have been…we have been happy together, despite our sorrows. But I see how desperately unhappy you are now, and I cannot deny that I worry that I will not be enough, if Ross and Demelza say they cannot love us as you wish them to.”

 

“Oh, Dwight.” After a moment Caroline leaned forwards and pressed a firm kiss to his forehead. “Dwight, I love you now and shall love you forever, and I _swear_ that if yours is the only love I am lucky enough to receive, I shall be more than content with that. I shall be as happy a wife as you could ask for.”

 

“And yet you want more,” he murmured.

 

“And yet I want more,” she agreed. She withdrew, smiling at him, a familiar glint of amusement in her eyes. “I am a selfish creature, Dwight. You’ve always known that about me.”

 

Dwight huffed a laugh, and resolved to put his worries away until he had firm grounds for concern. He believed that _she_ believed what she said, and he wanted to have faith in her promise. He could not help wondering what would happen if Ross said no – the quiet, nagging voice would not be silenced, only muffled – but until tomorrow, until Ross’s decision was given, Dwight must not dwell on the what ifs.

 

“I have always known you to be more than that, Caroline,” he said, not quite chiding her but certainly reminding her that she had greater depths than she preferred to show to most people. “Now, are we to go tomorrow? If we are, I must pay a few calls this afternoon, after all.”

 

“Yes, yes, go and tend to your flock,” laughed Caroline. “We shall go to Nampara tomorrow, unless Demelza’s weather sense is wrong, for once!”

 

Demelza’s prediction proved true: the next day dawned dry and sunny, and continued thus throughout the morning. Accordingly, Dwight and Caroline, with Sophie carefully held on the pommel of Dwight’s saddle, set off from Killewarren an hour or so after lunch and arrived not long afterwards at Nampara. They were greeted first by the rambunctious Poldark children, who practically tumbled out of the kitchen door and into the stable yard, and then by Ross and Demelza, who followed more sedately.

 

“They’re greatly looking forward to the picnic,” Ross said dryly, reaching up to take Sophie so that Dwight could dismount. “I don’t believe a single one of them has sat still all morning.” He didn’t meet Dwight’s eyes, nor offer his usual greeting of a friendly embrace, and Dwight’s heart sank. He didn’t know what he’d hoped for, but this withdrawal of friendship was something he had feared. It pained Dwight to think, to perceive in Ross’s behaviour, that he might have lost the friendship that he’d held so dear. And he only had himself to blame, for being so bold and imprudent the other night.

 

But then Ross set Sophie down on the ground, very carefully, and glanced up at Dwight, meeting his gaze with startling directness. It was just for a brief moment, barely more than a heartbeat or two, then Ross looked away and greeted Caroline as affectionately as usual. Dwight was left knowing that something had changed, that Ross had looked at him in a way and with an expression that Dwight had never seen before, but he was still ignorant of what that change might be. He turned to Demelza, hoping to find some clarity in her behaviour, but Demelza seemed the same as she always was, happy and pleased to see them, as attentive to Sophie as she was to her own children, and too occupied with them to notice Dwight’s confusion.

 

Caroline saw it, however, and she shrugged her shoulders helplessly at Dwight. Her own greeting from Ross had been no more or less partial than usual, and Caroline had been able to tell nothing from the way he took her hand and smiled at her. Demelza had greeted her with clasped hands and a kiss to her cheek, just as she always did, but her kiss had not lingered, and if her smile seemed a little warmer than usual, Caroline did not dare to hope that meant anything.

 

“Mrs Kemp will see for the children,” Demelza was saying. “Come and have some lemonade before we go down to the beach. _No_ , Clowance, you may _not_ ride Caroline’s horse. Ross, take them through, I’ll be there in just a minute.”

 

“More than a minute, if I know you,” Ross observed dryly. Demelza laughed and waved him away, and Ross gestured for Caroline to precede him into the house. “Caroline, you look as though you’re mounting the gallows,” he said. “I promise no such fate awaits you today.”

 

“Well, if you promise, I suppose I shall have to believe you,” Caroline said. She was aiming for a light-hearted tone, but she could tell that she did not succeed by the way Dwight reached out and touched her elbow, a silent and necessary support. They passed through the kitchen and went to the parlour, where a jug of lemonade and several glasses awaited them. Ross poured them each a glass, and Caroline took the opportunity to observe him more closely than she had been able to outside. He seemed calm, but appearances could be deceptive with Ross, who could flare up into a mood in seconds, on occasion. Even at his most content, his happiest, there was almost always an undercurrent of uneasiness about him, plain to see by those who knew him well. It was there now; she could see it in the line of his jaw and the set of his shoulders. It could mean nothing, or it could mean something. There was simply no way to tell.

 

“Here,” Ross said, offering Dwight a glass of lemonade and ending Caroline’s scrutiny of him. “Here, Caroline – Demelza made it fresh this morning. She turned her back for two minutes and the children nearly knocked it all over the kitchen floor, but as you see, it’s survived.” He moved to pass her a glass but paused still holding it, arm outstretched, his brow furrowed as he looked at her. “Have you been ill?” he demanded sharply. “Outside you looked – Dwight, has she been –,”

 

“I’m not ill,” Caroline interrupted. She tried to laugh, and tilted her head with as much coquettishness as she could manage. “Come, Ross, you don’t expect me to have your wife’s colour. I have too much regard for my complexion to be out in the sun all day.” Ross was still staring at her, jaw tense, and Caroline smiled her most brilliant smile. “Truly, I’m not ill. Dwight, reassure him.”

 

“Who’s ill?” Demelza asked, appearing in the doorway. She had donned a large straw hat, in deference to the heat and brightness of the sun, and she looked fresh and young, not old enough to have birthed four children. She made Caroline’s heart swell with affection, just from the way she smiled at them all, that smile as dazzling as the sun. “Dwight?”

 

“Nobody’s ill,” Dwight said, plucking Caroline’s glass of lemonade from Ross’s hand and giving it to her. Caroline wondered how Dwight could act so normally, how he could speak and move as if nothing had changed, as if nothing _might_ change after today. “Ross thinks Caroline looks unwell,” Dwight went on, “but I assure you she’s not.”

 

Ross inhaled to speak, but Demelza stepped into the room and rested a hand on his shoulder, a silent admonition. Caroline envied the casual ease with which Demelza touched Ross, an envy that stabbed at her heart and reminded her of how much she might have lost already in her desire for more. She glanced at Dwight, but he seemed to have suddenly discovered something fascinating in his glass, as if Demelza’s entrance had made him bashful – the way he had sometimes been with Caroline, when they had first been falling in love with each other. He was falling in love with Demelza. Caroline wished she could be happy to see it, to see this evidence that she had not been wrong to pursue this course, but all she could think of was how hurt he would be if the answer, today, was ‘no’.

 

“Not unwell,” Demelza observed gently, “but unhappy, I think?” Caroline shrugged, as if it meant nothing, but Demelza came to her and clasped her free hand. Her smile was kind, but Caroline found no comfort in it – Demelza would try to be kind to almost anyone, in almost any situation. “Don’t be unhappy,” Demelza entreated. “There’s no need, Caroline.”

 

“No need,” Caroline echoed. Hope began to grow in her, and she glanced over Demelza’s shoulder at Ross, because though Demelza was holding her hand, though Demelza had said there was no need for Caroline to be unhappy, it was Ross who would decide that. Ross was looking straight at her, a slight smile tugging at a corner of his mouth, and when she met his eyes, he nodded once, deliberately. Caroline’s hand shook so badly that lemonade spilled from her glass, sticky liquid dripping onto her hand and onto the floor.

 

“Oh, Caroline,” exclaimed Demelza, taking the glass from her. Dwight was at Caroline’s side suddenly, a hand grasping her elbow, as if he thought she needed the support. And then somehow Ross was there too, on Caroline’s other side, helping to hold her upright.

 

“Deep breaths,” Dwight instructed. “Deep breaths, my dear.”

 

“I haven’t said a firm yes _quite_ yet,” Ross said, as if advising her to temper her relief. “There’s much to discuss and agree upon, first.” But Demelza was smiling at Caroline still, and she gave a little nod to match the one Ross had given just a moment ago, and Caroline felt as if she could breathe again, properly, for the first time in days. She was surrounded by the three people she loved best in the world, bracketed by Dwight and Ross and with Demelza just before her, close enough to reach out and embrace if only Caroline dared. Now was not the moment, of course – not with the parlour door open and the children just down the hallway, not with servants busy working in the kitchen and elsewhere. And she could not ignore Ross’s cautioning words, either. No doubt he was right to say there was much to discuss before he could give a proper answer. But the very fact that he had come to this point, that he was willing to discuss what this new relationship might involve…it was promising. It was more than promising.

 

Caroline reached for Dwight’s hand, felt him twine their fingers together and knew, without looking, that he was feeling a similar relief in this moment. Not as strongly as she, perhaps, but still she knew he was feeling the same release of tension, the same blossoming hope that at last they all seemed to be on the same page, all willing to push this further to see what it might become.  

 

“The children will be in here soon,” Ross said, speaking low and quickly, “so we can’t talk now. But later, when they’re playing on the beach, we’ll talk.”

 

“Talk,” Dwight echoed. “Ross, do you really mean –,”

 

“Mama! Mama!” The four children came into the parlour in a tumble of limbs and a cacophony of voices. It was little Isabella-Rose who had called out, but Jeremy and Clowance were right behind her, Jeremy holding Sophie’s hand to make sure she stayed steady on her little legs. Caroline straightened, and Ross fell back a pace from her. She mourned the distance created between them, but accepted the necessity of it. And at least Dwight stayed close to her, still gently grasping her elbow, as if he thought even now that she needed the support. Caroline would have spared him a smile had her attention not been caught by her daughter – or more precisely, the hat that Sophie now sported. “Mama!” Sophie exclaimed again. “Look!”

 

“Yes, darling, very nice,” Caroline said, bending over and holding out her arms. “But I think Captain Poldark might need his hat this afternoon, so perhaps you should give it back to him?” Sophie giggled and took off Ross’s hat, and Caroline straightened and held it out to its owner. But when he took hold of it, she refused to relinquish it. She waited until Ross met her eyes, and then spoke. “Not a firm yes,” she said, “but more yes than no?”

 

He looked at her, his dark eyes serious and his expression nearly unreadable. Demelza began to usher the children from the room, but Caroline was peripherally aware of how she lingered in the doorway, waiting for Ross’s answer just as Caroline was. Then, at last, Ross offered her a nod and a faint smile.

 

“More yes than no,” he agreed. “But we’ll talk later. Come, you’ll want to wash your hand before we go.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was strange, Ross thought as the Poldarks and Enyses made their way from Nampara house to the cove, how different things had already become. The changes were hardly perceptible, taken individually, but as a whole they became marked – at least when Ross regarded it all with as much detachment as he could manage. It was most striking when he looked at Demelza and Caroline, for this was the first time he had seen them together since going to London. At first glance there was nothing out of the ordinary about their interactions as they strolled along the path ahead of Ross, Demelza carrying a basket of food and Caroline gesticulating as she said something. Clowance had run on ahead with Bella, but Jeremy was close beside the two women, helping little Sophie Enys, whose chubby legs were not quite steady enough yet to support her on such a distance. Ross spared a moment to be pleased, and proud, that Jeremy took his responsibility so seriously, but then he returned his attention to Demelza and Caroline. They walked a little closer together than he thought he remembered from before, and every so often Caroline’s hand would stray towards Demelza, touching her elbow, her shoulder, or catching Demelza’s hand with her own for a few moments. And Demelza, it was clear, did not find this a surprise. She seemed to have grown accustomed to it, at some point over the last few months.

 

Demelza turned her face towards Caroline just then, laughing at something Caroline had said, and Caroline reached out and touched Demelza again. Just a brief press of a hand to Demelza’s arm, but there was a familiarity to it, as well as a sense – at least to Ross’s gaze – that Caroline couldn’t help herself. She reached for Demelza because she couldn’t resist, couldn’t withstand the temptation. It was a feeling Ross had long been familiar with, one that had waxed and waned over the years but had never been entirely absent. It was not always driven by desire, this need he felt to touch Demelza; quite the contrary, often it was enough simply to hold her hand, or to run his fingers through her hair. It was a need for closeness, not for sexual intimacy, and watching Caroline succumbing to it…it ought to make Ross jealous, it ought to make him resentful, but instead he felt a remarkable serenity about it all. If Caroline wanted to touch Demelza, if she loved Demelza…well, he couldn’t blame her for it. Demelza was intrinsically loveable, kind and gentle and fierce and loyal.

 

Ross tried to imagine Dwight feeling, and succumbing to, the same need to reach out and touch. He couldn’t do it. But he suspected that was more because of Dwight’s character and habits than because Ross was as opposed to the idea as he had been when he had first thought of it. That was a change, also – but an internal one, not visible for anyone to notice, except perhaps Demelza, who knew him better than anyone else in the world.

 

He glanced at Dwight, who was walking beside Ross on the path. Dwight, like Ross, was carrying an armful of blankets – Demelza had cajoled Caroline into agreeing to sit on the ground, rather than bringing a stool down to the beach – and he, like Ross, was watching their wives. There was a faint smile on Dwight’s face, a contentment in his expression as he watched Caroline and Demelza. Then Dwight seemed to sense Ross’s gaze; he glanced at Ross sidelong, and a slight flush rose in his cheeks.

 

“I must apologise to you,” he said. “The other night –,”

 

“There’s no need,” Ross interjected hastily. “In the light of everything that’s been said –,”

 

“Not for that,” interrupted Dwight. Ross fell silent, a little startled. Dwight cleared his throat, and hitched his pile of blankets a little higher in his arms. “I don’t apologise for – for what happened,” Dwight said, so slowly and deliberately that Ross knew he must be measuring each word in his mind before speaking it. “But for leaving so quickly afterwards,” Dwight continued. “It was a cowardly act.”

 

Ross shook his head. “You’re not a coward, Dwight. You never have been, not in all these years we’ve known each other.” Dwight inhaled to answer, but Ross went on before he could do so. “No, don’t try to argue otherwise. You won’t convince me. And nothing you did the other night was cowardly.”

 

“Ross –,”

 

“Papa!” screeched Clowance, dashing past Demelza and Caroline and aiming herself squarely at Ross. “Papa, there’s a jellyfish on the beach!”

 

“Leave it alone, then,” Ross advised. “And try not to knock your mama over, on your way back.” Clowance grinned up at him and swerved, narrowly missing a collision with Ross and circling around the two men to head back for the cove. Ross raised his eyes skyward for a moment. “That child,” he said, “would drive a saint to distraction. She has enough energy for three children put together.”

 

“Demelza always says that Clowance takes after you,” said Dwight, sounding far too amused.

 

“Ha! She takes after her mother,” Ross retorted. Dwight made a noncommittal sound, and Ross glanced at him. Dwight was clearly trying not to smile. “You never knew Demelza as a child,” Ross said. “She got into a scrape or two, believe me. She hardly stood still, the first few years she was at Nampara.”

 

“She rarely stands still even now,” Dwight pointed out. Ross couldn’t deny it, so he gave up the point. They had reached the cove, at any rate, so for a while conversation turned to where best to lay down the blankets, and whether Sophie could be allowed to paddle if Jeremy promised not to let go of her hand, and other such details of a picnic on the beach. Demelza had packed a veritable feast, and Ross thought it likely that none of them would have much room for supper later – saving perhaps the children, all four of whom seemed determined to take advantage of the sun, the warmth, and the general feast-day feel of the afternoon. They scarcely sat still even for their food, and in the end Demelza gave up and let them run riot.

 

“They’ll come back if they get hungry again,” she excused. Ross, made lazy by the heat and the food, yawned an agreement and leaned back against the rock they had used as a sunshade. He felt he could almost go to sleep, were it not for the awareness that there had been a slight awkwardness between the four of them throughout the picnic, a feeling that they were all waiting for something to happen or for something to be said. It would have to be Ross who began the conversation, he knew. He had been the last of them to know, the last to make any decision about what course he could or would follow. On his word rested the hopes of the three people he loved best in the world.

 

He had no doubts about his own happiness, and Demelza’s, if this thing couldn’t come to pass – or if they should try it and it should fail. Demelza had never been one to fret over things she couldn’t have, and he didn’t doubt her love for him, nor her commitment. If he said no, now or at a later point when the idea became a physical reality, then he had no doubt that he and Demelza would continue as happily, as contentedly, as they had before. There would, of course, be troubled waters in need of calming, but they would weather it as they had weathered turbulence before.

 

But he had concerns about Caroline’s happiness, and Dwight’s. It was a matter for their own marriage, and in a sense therefore it could be said to be none of his business, but Caroline had _made_ it Ross’s business, in opening up this possibility for them all to grow into something new. And beyond that, he knew that both Caroline and Dwight would certainly be unhappy, for a while at least, if Ross could not do this, and so their happiness depended on what he decided – not a comfortable burden to bear. He was more open to it than he had been before, that was true, but the things they needed to discuss this afternoon – limits on intimacies, decisions on where any union might take place…these were not things that he was accustomed to speaking of with anyone but Demelza. It would be awkward, no matter how invested any of them were in the outcome. And Ross was all-too-aware that even if this conversation went well, even if they all agreed and began to tangle their lives together a little further, Ross – or any of them – might still baulk at the final hurdle. Physical intimacy, all four of them together. His prior objections were still valid, and he still had no real idea how he would react to Dwight.

 

All these things still had to be overcome. It was, in a way, one of the greatest risks any of them had ever taken.

 

“Ross,” Demelza murmured. “The children are far enough away if we keep our voices low.” It was a gently-spoken prompt, but Ross heeded it as if it had been a stern order. He sat up straight, crossed his legs Indian-style, and rested his hands on his knees. He glanced at Dwight, who met his eyes and then looked away, and then at Caroline, who seemed occupied with straightening her cuffs. Neither of them seemed inclined to broach the subject. Ross inhaled to speak, but had to let the breath out again, not sure how to begin.

 

Demelza saw that he was struggling – unusual for Ross – and tried to find some way to help. “I’m glad we’re all here,” she said at last, careful to keep her voice quiet. “’Tis too long since we were all together. And it feels…better, somehow, to be all together talking of this.”

 

Ross nodded. “I agree. I know it wasn’t anybody’s intent, but when I came back from London, it felt…” He trailed off, grimacing. Demelza wanted to reach out and touch him, to cover his hand with hers, but he was a little too far away to make it comfortable. She knew what he wasn’t saying, of course: it had felt, to him, as if she and Caroline and Dwight had been sneaking around behind his back. She hated that he’d felt that, that she’d been part of making him feel that, but though he was bringing it up again now, Demelza knew that Ross did truly understand that it had been unintentional.

 

“I’m sorry,” Caroline said, almost too low to be heard above the sounds of the waves on the sand and the gulls and choughs overhead and on the cliffs nearby. Her expression showed a level of guilt that Demelza wasn’t accustomed to seeing in her. “I never intended to make anyone feel that way.”

 

“We know, Caroline,” said Demelza at once. Caroline was closer to her than Ross, and so Demelza could and did touch Caroline’s hand with her own, clasping it and squeezing briefly in reassurance. Caroline darted a glance at her, quick and furtive, and then she looked towards Ross. Demelza followed her gaze and found Ross staring down at their clasped hands. “Ross knows that,” she added. Ross didn’t react for a moment, but then he nodded his head again. “But we’re all here now,” Demelza said. “That’s the important thing.”

 

“And are we all here?” Dwight challenged. “Are we all on the same page?” He was looking at Ross, and Demelza looked too, because she couldn’t answer Dwight’s question. Not for this, not for Ross. Though Ross had said he was willing to try, though he had begun to think in more concrete terms about what this new relationship would involve…though all that was true, Demelza could not answer for him.

 

Ross turned his head, stared across the cove to where the four children were paddling about in rock pools. His expression was particularly unreadable, even to Demelza, his thoughts an unknown expanse behind the deceptively relaxed jaw and the dark eyes. Caroline’s grip on Demelza’s hand grew tight. Demelza couldn’t offer her any reassurance, though she was sure – she was _sure_ Ross wouldn’t close the door on it all now, after offering this hope to Caroline and Dwight.

 

Finally Ross shrugged one shoulder and looked back at Dwight, offering a smile that, though small, was genuine. “I think we’re on the same page,” he said. “Though perhaps we’re not yet reading the same sentence.”

 

Caroline inhaled, and at last her fierce grasp of Demelza’s hand began to slacken. “Ross,” she said urgently, do you mean –,”

 

“I mean that I am interested, and open to the possibility, and that my feelings could easily become stronger,” Ross interrupted. He didn’t look away from Dwight. Demelza wondered what was being communicated in that unrelenting stare, wondered what Dwight could see and what Ross was trying to convey. She didn’t dare to guess. Instead she lifted Caroline’s hand and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles.

 

“I think not one of us can firmly say that we can agree to the road ahead, when none of us know where that road will take us,” she said, to Caroline and to them all. “But I think – I _believe_ we are all prepared to take that first step.” The first step was this conversation; a conversation about rules and boundaries and possibilities, one that must become far more intimate than it had been thus far. But Demelza didn’t know how to talk about those things. With Ross, in the privacy of their bedroom, she could and did talk about the things she liked, the things she wanted, though even now, after so many years of marriage, she couldn’t speak of those things in daylight. To be outside, on the beach, with their children only a few dozen yards away…no, she didn’t know how to speak of sexual intimacy, of whose bedroom and whose house should be used, of what might or might not be allowed. Even the thought of trying to say it made her cheeks grow warmer than the sun could make them. She did not think she was overly prudish, but she could not do it.

 

“Are we?” Dwight asked again. He clearly still sought a more direct answer from Ross, who shrugged again.

 

“What would you like me to say?” he challenged. “I’ve never desired another man, and I still cannot say with absolute certainty that my feelings towards you are, or can be, of that nature.” Ross fell silent as a cry from the children reminded them all that they had to speak more softly. Demelza checked to make sure no harm had come to any of them, but they were all four well. Sophie, she saw, had found a feather and was waving it aloft in triumph. Jeremy was still holding Sophie’s hand tightly, as he’d been told to do, and Demelza smiled at the sight. “I can’t say it,” Ross repeated quietly. “I can say I am intrigued, but I can’t say I have solid, certain inclinations in that way. And if you can say it to me for yourself, I’ll be surprised.”

 

“No,” Dwight agreed, drawing the word out, as if he was still considering his answer. “No, I cannot say it…firmly. But I…”

 

“You’re interested,” murmured Demelza. She spoke so softly that nobody but Caroline heard her, and Caroline looked sidelong at her and then gave one quick, decisive nod of her head. Yes, Dwight was interested. Caroline could acknowledge it, even if Dwight could not manage the words. Then Caroline lifted one eyebrow and tilted her head slightly in Ross’s direction, asking a silent question that Demelza could only answer with a shrug and a moue of her mouth. Ross was interested to an extent, but Demelza couldn’t give Caroline any firm assurances – no more than Ross could give them to Dwight.

 

“So without saying I feel more than I do,” Ross was saying, “I can at least say that I am willing to…to see where the road leads, though there are certain things that that ought to be firmly agreed before we begin. And I have concerns – for all of us – if it should prove impossible. If we should discover…” He hesitated, and expelled a breath slowly. “I have concerns,” he repeated. He had dropped his gaze from Dwight, and now seemed to be focused on studying the fine grains of sand that were sprinkled across his boots and breeches, despite the blankets they were using as rugs. Nobody spoke; perhaps nobody knew what to say. Demelza suddenly realised that she was still holding Caroline’s hand; she squeezed it gently again, and then withdrew. She saw a flicker of disappointment in Caroline’s expression, but only for a moment, and then it was carefully hidden. Demelza wished she hadn’t moved, hadn’t pulled away, but reaching out again now would seem awkward and forced, so instead she brushed sand from her skirt and glanced down the beach at the children. They were still playing in the rock pools, splashing and laughing and enjoying themselves, oblivious to the conversation their parents were having.

 

“How strange this all is,” Caroline said at last. There was a certain note in her voice that betrayed her anxiety – at least to those who knew her well. “I know we have to talk about these things, but it feels wrong, somehow, to do it in daylight like this.”

 

Ross huffed a laugh, lifting his head at last. “I thought it might be easier in daylight,” he admitted. “But it isn’t.”

 

“I don’t think this was ever going to be an easy conversation,” said Dwight. He seemed to have thawed a little, as if Ross had provided him with enough of an answer for him to grow comfortable again. He smiled at Demelza, and Demelza smiled back, heartened to see him more relaxed. “At any rate,” he went on, “it has to happen if we’re all agreed to proceed, so we must get through it. I have my own thoughts about what things need to be decided first, but what do you think, Ross?”

 

Ross grimaced a little, and his glance towards Caroline was somewhat apologetic. “While I know you want more than just physical intimacy,” he began.

 

“I do,” Caroline said quickly, before he could continue. She felt she had to make that assurance to him now, and to the others, though she had said it before to each of them. It was not that she thought any of them disbelieved her, but still she felt that reassurance was necessary, now that they were on the precipice of this new, unknown relationship that she had nudged and pushed them all towards. “I never wanted just that,” she added. “It has always been…” She trailed off, unable to continue. Demelza reached out and took her hand again, and Caroline clung to it, clutching at Demelza as if she could somehow tether Caroline to the reality that her goal, her wish, was at last within her grasp.

 

“We wouldn’t be here now, talking about it, if we thought otherwise,” Demelza comforted her. “None of us would, I think.” Caroline managed a brief, tight smile in response, and squeezed  Demelza’s hand. Demelza’s answering smile was as gentle as her words had been, and then she nodded at Ross, to indicate that he might continue.

 

“Demelza’s right, of course,” Ross said. “We wouldn’t be here if we thought that was all you wanted.” He paused, as if waiting for something. Caroline forced herself to look at him, to meet that uncompromising gaze. She still clung to Demelza’s hand, taking strength from her friend. “Nonetheless,” Ross went on at last, “given how close we are already are – you both know how important you are to us, our greatest friends – given that, it’s logical to assume that the first step towards anything else would begin with…” He cleared his throat, but he kept looking at her, so Caroline refused to look away, though her cheeks were hot and she could see, peripherally, that Dwight was fidgeting a little, nervous or embarrassed or afraid. But Caroline pushed that aside and lifted her chin a little, a silent challenge to Ross to keep going, to say it, to have it out in the open between all four of them. “With intimacies,” Ross finished, tamely.

 

Dwight made a sound that was startlingly like a snort, hastily smothered with a cough. Ross gave him a withering look, but it was immaterial whether it worked on Dwight or not, for the sight of it – and need to release the tension she’d felt over the past week, and the absurdity of this conversation – sent Caroline into a fit of giggles. Ross turned his glare upon her, but it only made it worse.

 

“If – if you can’t even s-say it,” Caroline managed, “then how – how do you ever imagine we shall d-do it?”

 

Demelza tugged at their joined hands. “Now, Caroline,” she scolded. She was clearly trying to be stern, but her eyes were dancing and there was a particular twist to her mouth that meant she was trying not to laugh, too.

 

“Caroline,” Ross complained. “No – Demelza – don’t encourage her!” But Demelza had lifted her free hand to cover her mouth, her mirth evident, and Caroline couldn’t stop, even when her giggling began to verge on the hysterical. Demelza’s laughter faded into consternation, and Dwight too began to look worried, leaning towards her as if to intervene.

 

But Demelza acted faster. She tugged at Caroline’s hand again, but more firmly now, drawing Caroline closer to her as Demelza knelt up to meet her halfway. Demelza’s mouth was on hers before Caroline realised what was happening. It was the most chaste of kisses, a meeting of lips with no hint of passion, no sign that Demelza wanted more – and Caroline was at first too stunned to respond, and then too aware of their surroundings and the sudden stillness of the two men. Besides, it was over quickly; Demelza withdrew, glancing down the beach. The children, Caroline realised, and she too looked across the cove.

 

“They weren’t looking,” Dwight said. His voice was rasping, and he cleared his throat. “They didn’t see anything.” Caroline looked at him, and then at Ross, and then she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. They were both staring at her, and at Demelza, and there was a look on Dwight’s face that she knew well. Caroline knew that expression so _very_ well. Where previously she had only hoped that this would entice him, the sight of she and Demelza, now she had evidence that it was so. And Ross – she’d only seen Ross look that way a very few times, but she imagined that Demelza was as familiar with Ross’s expression as Caroline was with Dwight’s. Caroline didn’t dare to look at Demelza, not quite yet, but she squeezed Demelza’s hand, and felt an answering squeeze in return.

 

“Good,” she said, responding a little too late to Dwight. “Good. I…Demelza…” Now she did force herself to look at Demelza, who was flushed a delicate pink, but didn’t seem embarrassed, precisely. “Demelza,” Caroline said again, feeling as if she was wholly lacking in any words adequate for the situation. It was not something she was used to, and she detested it. Rarely before had she found herself with nothing to say – though those occasions, she reflected, had almost all involved Dwight. So perhaps it was not surprising that now she felt speechless, helpless to do anything but repeat Demelza’s name. She was, after all, in love with Demelza.

 

“I’ve been wanting to do that again for weeks,” Demelza admitted in a low voice.

 

“I’ve been wanting to _see_ it for weeks,” said Dwight. He cleared his throat again, seemingly abashed at his honesty. “I, uh…that is…”

 

“No,” Ross said suddenly. “No, don’t pretend it’s anything other than what it is.” He paused, and looked from Caroline to Demelza, and then to Dwight, and then back to Demelza, who nodded her head at him, as if granting him permission. Not that Caroline thought that Ross ever felt the need to ask for permission to do anything, but still, that nod seemed to make it easier for Ross to continue. “I’ve wanted to see it too,” he said. “I’ve wanted to see the two of you kiss. I haven’t been able to rid myself of the idea.” Caroline opened her mouth to speak, but Ross held up a hand, and she subsided. “I’ve wanted to see it,” he said, “and more. And I know Demelza has, too.”

 

“Have you?” Caroline questioned Demelza. It wasn’t that she doubted Ross’s word, but she wanted confirmation from Demelza too, because she had to be sure – she had to be _sure_ that she hadn’t ruined everything, that they were truly following her down this path. She loved them all so dearly, wanted all three of them so much, but nothing must be left unsaid, now. She had to hear the words.

 

“Yes,” said Demelza. “I’ve wanted…more. When we kissed…” Her cheeks, still flushed, grew pinker still. “I liked it very much,” Demelza murmured. “And – and I like the thought of Ross and Dwight, too.” She caught Caroline’s eye, and suddenly Caroline could think of nothing else but the two men, embracing, kissing. She wished, quite fervently, that she had been present when Dwight, spurred by alcohol and foolhardiness, had broken the invisible barrier and kissed Ross. She had wished so before, but now, knowing that Demelza was likely picturing the same thing, the longing was so much greater.

 

“In the spirit of honesty,” Dwight said, breaking Caroline’s reverie, “you were right earlier, Ross, when you said I’ve no firm inclinations. Or I never have had, before. But ever since Caroline told me about this…this…”

 

“Scheme?” Ross suggested. There was a wry note in his voice that belied the expression on his face, and Caroline rolled her eyes at him and refused to take offence. Dwight chuckled a little, and nodded.

 

“Scheme,” he agreed. “Ever since then, I’ve wondered. And I don’t think what happened last week was entirely unpleasant, for either of us.” Caroline held her breath. Demelza clutched at her hand, tight and hot. Across the cove, Clowance’s high laughter rang out above the rhythmic whisper of the waves.

 

“No,” said Ross. Caroline exhaled, and Ross glanced at her, caught her in his gaze for one, long heartbeat, and then he looked back at Dwight, shrugging one shoulder. “Not entirely unpleasant,” he agreed. “I’ve certainly had worse. Still, there’s room for improvement, I think. Yes,” he went on, before anyone else could speak, “yes, I’ve wondered too, these last few days. But it remains one of my key hesitations, and I won’t hide that from you. I’ve no notion how I might – respond.”

 

“But you’re willing to see what happens,” Caroline said. It was not a question, but Ross nodded. Caroline breathed deeply again, and then she took her hand from Demelza’s and reached to pour herself another glass of lemonade. She felt in need of refreshment, and in need of something to occupy her hands. “So all that remains is to try,” she remarked. “What are these things that must be decided first? More lemonade, Dwight? It’s particularly good today, Demelza. Ours never comes out half so well, even following your own recipe.”

 

“You are a most exasperating woman,” Ross sighed. He leaned forward, passing his cup to her, brushing his fingers against hers as he did so. A glint in her eyes showed that she realised he’d done so deliberately, but she said nothing, and gave no other reaction. “Yes, there are things to be decided. If we’re to do this, we need…we’ll have to be careful.”

 

“Careful?” Caroline repeated.

 

“Discreet,” said Dwight. “The last thing we want is for any questions to be asked.” He smiled faintly, but without mirth. “I doubt anybody would ever be able to imagine the truth, but gossip and rumours are hard to quash.”

 

Ross nodded. “It could be weathered,” he agreed, “but it’s best avoided. We’ll have to make arrangements.” He hesitated. It would be so easy to follow this train of thought, to talk about how they could go about it – the practical matters involved in the kind of liaisons that they were dancing around. An invitation to dinner, letting the evening drag on, then insisting that Dwight and Caroline could not ride back so late, that they must stay the night…it had happened before. Nobody would question it. As long as two beds were slept in, not an eyebrow would be raised by any of the servants in the morning. It would have to be at Nampara, both because Ross felt a need to maintain that element of control, of security, over the whole affair, and because fewer servants slept in at Nampara than at Killewarren. It would be easier to be discreet, with fewer eyes and ears to watch and hear any hint of unusual activity.

 

It would be very easy to go into those details, mundane compared to the other meanings of ‘careful’ that needed to be discussed.

 

“You don’t just mean that, though,” Dwight observed. His elbow rested on his knee, his chin was cupped in his hand, and he gazed at Ross with the kind of focused contemplation that he usually employed for examining his medical experiments. Ross bore the scrutiny; Dwight had a right to it, he felt, given everything. “I suppose,” Dwight went on after a few moments, “that you mean in terms of other risks. Such as pregnancy, perhaps?”

 

“And jealousy,” said Demelza. Ross flashed her a grateful look; it was his own jealousy that he feared, of course, but she hadn’t said so. And though Dwight and Caroline must surely understand, neither of them remarked upon it. Ross had, of course, already exchanged words with both of them on the subject, though more so with Caroline than Dwight. At any rate, they both knew his history, and what jealousy had made him capable of doing in the past. “The one,” Demelza went on delicately, “has a bearing on the other.”

 

She was looking at Caroline as she spoke, not at Ross, and Ross saw something pass between them, an unspoken communication that he was not privy to, even though he knew them both so well. It seemed part warning and part shared understanding, and he supposed that it conveyed nothing that he could not be part of, and yet for a moment he was excluded from it. He wondered, as he had wondered on occasion in the past, whether Demelza had shared with Caroline things that she had never shared with him, about her transgressions with Hugh Armitage. He had never asked Demelza – and she had never offered – a full accounting of all that had passed between her and Hugh, but Ross was confident enough about what had happened. If she had told Caroline, but not Ross…before, when he had thought about that possibility, he had felt a slight resentment. Illogical, for he had always been glad that Demelza had found a close confidante in Caroline, but such had been his feelings. He had resented that perhaps Caroline knew something about his wife that was forbidden to him. Now, though, seeing this shared glance, this silent communication between the two women – now he no longer felt even the slightest resentment. Instead, finally, he could simply be glad that Demelza had been able to share her heartache with somebody, because it could not have been with him.

 

And with this realisation, Ross felt that a load had been lifted from his shoulders. He could not guarantee his reactions, any more than Dwight could guarantee his, and it might be that they could not, after all, be together in the way that Caroline wanted, and that Demelza had begun to want. But he harboured no resentment about this private exchange between them. He could see, now, how he might share Demelza with these two others, their greatest friends, and not find any jealousy in doing so, nor any resentment at their intimacies being shared. There would always be those things that were for their marriage alone, parts of himself that he would never share with any but Demelza – and she, in her turn, had aspects of herself that, he knew, would never be shared with any but Ross. Taking this next step could make them happy in a different way, as Demelza had phrased it. Doing this would deepen their feelings for each other, all four of them. Not just between the marriages, but within them as well. He would perhaps cherish all the more those parts of Demelza that were his alone, once other aspects of her heart and body were being shared with two new lovers. And he would be part of that sharing; he would be with them. It would be, as Demelza had said, a different kind of happiness.

 

“I’ll be blunt,” Ross said, “and I hope that you’ll forgive me for being so.” That gained everybody’s attention. Ross double-checked that the children were far enough away, and then continued. “There are certain acts that I do not think it wise to allow, given the feelings that could arise from it, and, as Dwight said, the potential for pregnancy.” He kept his voice low and hurried the words out, before anyone could interrupt him. “There’s no polite way to say it, so I must be crude. I do not think, even with all of us together, sharing our hearts and bodies and loving each other as you want, Caroline – I do not think, even then, I could stomach seeing any man take my wife.”

 

Caroline gave a kind of choked laugh. “Very blunt!” she exclaimed. She was flushed, Ross saw, and it suited her far more than her earlier pallor. He wondered whether the blush spread further than her face; Demelza’s blushes sometimes crept down her throat and chest, a pink flush to her creamy skin. He would like to see whether Caroline was the same. Soon, perhaps. Dwight was harder to fluster, colouring rarely, but he was as fair-skinned as Demelza. Ross found himself wondering if his blushes spread, too. He marvelled at the thought, but whether it was simply curiosity, or whether it heralded other things, he couldn’t say. For now it was better just to let the thought exist, and not examine it too closely.

 

“I agree with you,” said Dwight. Unlike Caroline, he didn’t seem at all abashed. He was still contemplative, still hunched over with his chin in his hand. “There are some things,” Dwight went on, “that I do not think many men could stand.” He met Ross’s eyes, and Ross nodded, slowly, glad of the shared understanding. Then Dwight looked away, towards Caroline, and he sat upright again. “It’s sensible, Caroline,” he said, as if answering some point she had made, though she’d said nothing. “I, for one, would rather not risk running afoul of Ross’s temper.” There was a smile on his face and in his voice. Ross snorted, but Dwight spread his hands, his smile widening into a grin. “Well, I’m always the one to patch you up when you brawl,” he remarked. “I can hardly do that if I’m on the receiving end.”

 

“Judas,” Demelza said laughingly, “don’t go giving him ideas, Dwight! He’s too old for brawling.” Her eyes twinkled at him, and Ross chose to take the bait. There was more to discuss, much more, but it need not be yet. Perhaps for now there had been enough seriousness. Caroline’s hysterical fit of laughter had proved – as if it had needed proving – that the nervous tension she had displayed earlier, in Nampara, had not dissipated. Ross imagined it would last some while yet. Perhaps if the mood was lightened, she would be able to calm herself a little. He didn’t like to see Caroline so agitated, and he was certain that Demelza felt the same, or she would not have begun to tease.

 

“I’m hardly in my dotage yet,” he retorted, lifting an eyebrow at Demelza.

 

“Nor fat and lazy, like half of Westminster,” said Caroline. She seemed to be recovering from her flustered state, though there was still something brittle about her smile. But it was beginning to grow more real, and her eyes, like Demelza’s, were beginning to twinkle with mirth. “You are old enough, though, to give up fighting. Have you any grey hairs yet, Ross?”

 

“I’m young and fit enough to put the pair of you over my knee,” Ross grumbled, reaching to pour himself another drink. Demelza laughed, tilting her face up into the sunlight so she was bathed in it. Ross idled away a moment in remembering the last time they’d enjoyed that sort of play, remembering the particular sound of a hand hitting thigh or buttocks, and the breathless moans that greeted it. He wondered – but pushed away the curiosity. It would keep, and he was already skirting the edges of arousal. He needed no further aid in that direction. Instead he changed the subject. “Dwight, do you realise what we are letting ourselves in for?” he inquired, with a gesture towards the two women. “With eyes wide open, I might add.”

 

“Oh, I do realise, I assure you,” said Dwight, taking up his glass and raising it towards Ross in a kind of toast. “We have only ourselves to blame.”

 

Dwight was saved from retribution by the return of the children. Sophie, a few tears trickling down her cheeks, was being carried by Jeremy because – or so she informed Dwight – she had hurt her finger and so couldn’t walk. Dwight examined the graze and pronounced it minor, but obligingly kissed it better when Sophie insisted. The interruption changed the mood, effectively quelling any further discussion, and Dwight wasn’t altogether sorry for it. They had talked about heavy enough matters, and a distraction, in the form of his daughter and the Poldark children, was not unwelcome. That there was more to discuss, he was in no doubt, but given what had already been spoken of and agreed, and the state Caroline was in, another pause – to refresh themselves, to nibble a little, to play with the children – would likely do them all good.

 

So Dwight allowed himself to be dragged into the children’s game, which seemed to revolve around clambering through rock pools and disturbing as many of each pool’s inhabitants as was possible. Dwight gently redirected them into a more educational game of merely looking, and handling only those creatures that could survive out of the water. Jeremy was fascinated by it, and Clowance obediently repeated all the names of the marine life as Dwight told them to her, but Bella grew bored, and toddled off to cajole her father into making some sort of sand fortress with her. Ross had already left their wives, and had wandered down to the sea, boots and stockings discarded so he could walk through the surf with bare feet and ankles, but he seemed agreeable enough to engage with Bella. Dwight straightened for a moment, gazing across at Caroline and Demelza, who still sat neatly on blankets by their makeshift table. He could tell that they were speaking, but could not hear them. But Sophie was playing close to them now, so they could not be discussing anything intimate. Then Dwight was reclaimed by Clowance asking him about crabs, and he crouched down again and gave the children his full attention.

 

The sun was creeping down towards the horizon, and Sophie was fast asleep in her mother’s lap, before at last any of them made any mention of returning to Nampara – and from thence to Killewarren, for the Enyses.

 

“Stop for supper,” Ross suggested. “I don’t fancy your chances at waking Sophie up quickly, nor of keeping her awake long enough to ride home. There’s enough, isn’t there, Demelza?”

 

“I dare say,” said Demelza, her eye roll clearly exaggerated for effect. “Nay, truly, there’s plenty,” she said, waving away Ross’s huff of feigned irritation. “Though it’s nothing fancy. I thought we’d sup light, after this afternoon.”

 

“Well…” Dwight hesitated. He exchanged a glance with Caroline, who shrugged one shoulder – no help at all. She was as lazy and sluggish as a cat asleep in a patch of sunshine, and she did not seem to mind whether they stayed or went home, which Dwight found unaccountable when she had been the driving force in this whole endeavour. He lifted his eyebrows, a silent plea for more definitiveness, but Caroline just shrugged again. She was petting Sophie’s hair, almost absently, in a very similar manner to the way in which she petted her dogs. Dwight chose to keep the similarity to himself. “You’re sure it’s no trouble, Demelza?”

 

“None at all,” Demelza answered promptly. “You know it’s never a trouble having you to dinner. But if you’re staying, I ought to go in now, to tell Mrs Gimlett we’re four for supper.” She began to rise, but stopped when Ross spoke.

 

“Wait a moment,” Ross said. He glanced around; the children were all nearby, but Ross seemed satisfied by the distance between them. “What about staying the night, too?” Ross suggested, his voice a little lower than before. Dwight blinked, sure he’d not heard it right – either the words, or the tone with which Ross had spoken them. Quiet, to keep it from the children, but intent, too. Ross was very intent, though his dark eyes were focused on nothing in particular.

 

“Ross,” murmured Demelza. “Tonight?”

 

That caught Caroline’s attention, and her hand stilled on Sophie’s blonde locks. “Oh,” she exclaimed. Then, with a guilty glance down at her sleeping daughter, she lowered her voice. “Tonight? Ross, d’you mean –,”

 

“Tonight seems as good a night as any,” said Ross. He glanced up, meeting Dwight’s gaze, and Dwight recognised the expression on Ross’s face. He knew that look. Dwight’s mouth twisted into a smile, almost against his will, and he shook his head, unable to resist a chuckle.

 

“Your husband,” he said to Demelza, not taking his eyes from Ross, “is a gambler.”

 

Demelza gave a breathless laugh. “I know,” she said. “He always has been.” Dwight didn’t look at her, but he could imagine her expression – incredulous, amused. He didn’t look at Demelza because he couldn’t tear his gaze from Ross, who lifted his chin a little, one eyebrow quirked upwards. ‘I dare you’, Ross was saying; he was saying ‘follow me’, and Dwight had enough self-awareness to recognise that he rarely said no to Ross, when Ross made that demand of him. He didn’t think he would say no now, but for a long moment Dwight sat and stared at Ross, turning it over in his mind, wondering what would happen to them all if it should turn out to be a disaster. It would be best viewed as an experiment, but Dwight couldn’t detach himself enough to view it so. He loved Caroline, he cared deeply for Demelza and Ross – loved them, in ways beyond mere friendship – and so detachment was impossible. All he could do was hope.

 

“I’ve no objections,” said Dwight at last. “Caroline?”

 

“Do you really think I’d object, when I’ve wanted us all together for so long?” Caroline sounded as breathless as Demelza now. Dwight dragged his attention away from Ross at last and looked at her, his headstrong wife. Caroline’s lips were parted, her gaze flitting between each of them in turn, never settling on anyone for long, as if she didn’t dare meet anyone’s eyes, not even Dwight’s. Demelza murmured Caroline’s name, and Caroline sighed. “Yes,” she said. “Yes – yes. If you’re sure, Ross. Only if you’re sure.”

 

“I’m as sure as I can be,” Ross confirmed. “But bearing in mind all I’ve said…yes.”

 

“I’ll make sure the guest room’s made up, then,” Demelza said. She spoke quietly, and her expression was at its most unreadable – her eyes curiously shuttered, her mouth serene, all inner thoughts and feelings hidden away deep inside. Dwight had never been able to read her as well as Caroline could, and looking at Demelza now, he could not even begin to guess what she was thinking, or how she was feeling. She must have doubts, as much as any of them, though she’d not voiced them to Dwight, and only a little to Caroline. Ross would know better. But Ross was frowning as he looked at his wife, brows drawn together to betray his confusion. Even he, it seemed, could not penetrate Demelza’s exterior on this occasion. Then Demelza glanced between Ross and Dwight, and smiled suddenly. “I’m content,” she assured them. “Only you must all make me a promise, first.”

 

“Of course,” said Dwight, and Caroline murmured agreement. “Though,” Dwight added, “I dare say I can guess what it is before you say it.” Demelza tilted her head at him, amused, and Dwight shrugged one shoulder and gestured between them all. “You want us to promise that whatever happens, we must remain friends,” he suggested. “Do you not?”

 

“Yes,” said Demelza, the flash of amusement fading as quickly as it had come, leaving sobriety behind. “That is what I want you all to promise.”

 

“Do you think it would be that easy?” Ross asked, as sombre as his wife. “To remain friends, after…” He trailed off, but it didn’t need saying. Dwight imagined that all four of them could finish Ross’s sentence, in various ways. To remain friends after attempting more; after meeting together tonight, in a bedroom in Nampara, to join themselves together physically. If the attempt became too awkward, if any of them became too jealous, if Dwight could not find deeper depths of desire for Ross, or vice versa…there might be no recovery from that. It would not be easy – it _could_ not be easy, to remain friends afterwards. If it was a simple physical liaison then perhaps, but what they were doing was not simple. Caroline was in love with Demelza, and with Ross. What Demelza felt or did not feel, Dwight could not say for certain, but it was clear she felt _something_ , and Ross too, for Ross would never have agreed to this if he did not. And as for Dwight himself…well, he was halfway in love with Demelza, and his feelings for Ross were indefinable. All of their hearts were tangled up in this, to greater or lesser degrees. It was Dwight’s greatest fear, that perhaps this would all come to nothing and he would lose as friends two of the best people he had ever known.

 

“No,” said Demelza. “No, I do not think it would be easy. Not at all. That’s why I want the promise.” She looked past Dwight, out at the sea. The tide was coming in, and one or two fishing boats had drifted past the cove in the past few minutes. “If it’s a promise,” she said, “we’ll all try that much harder. You’d not break a promise, Dwight, once you made it, would you? Nor you, Ross. Not if there was any help for it.”

 

Ross shifted a little. “I try not to break any promise I make to you,” he muttered. There was a weight of history in his voice, but Demelza didn’t remark upon it. She knew, and he knew, what he was thinking about – and no doubt Caroline and Dwight could make a good guess, too. They had each promised the other something, she and Ross, when they had married, and they had each broken that promise. But that was in the past, and though this step was not entirely unrelated to those broken promises, this was not _infidelity_. The relationship that might be forged or broken, this night, involved all of them. Ross was with her, had indeed leaped ahead of her; he approved and consented and would be as much a willing, active participant as she. No marital vows were being broken in this. Bent, but not broken. Past injuries had no place here, and Demelza would not bring them into the light. She rubbed her thumb across her wedding ring and said nothing, waiting for some further answer from him. “I promise to try,” Ross said at last. “Will that serve?”

 

“Thank you, Ross,” Demelza murmured. It was the best she could expect from him, and she wouldn’t push for more.

 

“I will make the same promise, gladly,” said Dwight. “I should…” He cleared his throat. Demelza bit her lip as she looked at him. Dwight so often showed his emotions openly, at least when he was Dwight Enys, friend, and not Dr Enys, physician. It was not that he could not dissemble – he would be a poor doctor if he could not, for not all patients wanted or needed the truth – but in his personal, everyday life, even now in sedate middle-age, Dwight wore his heart on his sleeve. Now there was trepidation written plainly across his face, and it troubled Demelza, until Dwight’s next words eased her. “I should hate to lose my dearest friends,” he managed at last. “You both...you both mean too much to me to lose. So yes, Demelza. I promise that – as Ross said, I promise to try my utmost.”

 

“And I,” promised Caroline. “I will, too. I promise.”

 

Demelza took a deep breath and let it out. “Thank you,” she said. She could not say that all her worries were gone, but at least she had this promise to hold to, in case things did not turn out as Caroline wanted – as they all seemed to want, now. And after tonight, they would know, or begin to know, if this strange new relationship could work. Tonight. A shiver ran down Demelza’s spine, a tingling beginning in her stomach, and when she glanced at Caroline, she could see her own anticipation mirrored in Caroline’s expression. Ross was more guarded, but Demelza knew him too well for him to hide from her all sign of his interest. As for Dwight, the flush high on his cheeks gave him away. They were all thinking about the same thing. They were all thinking about what might happen, this evening, once darkness fell and children and servants were all safely abed and asleep.

 

By mutual, though unspoken, assent, they once again left the subject. Sophie was roused, Jeremy, Clowance and Isabella-Rose corralled, the picnic baskets packed up, and in short order they were all back at Nampara. The children were given over to the care of Mrs Kemp, who whisked them upstairs for a thorough wash and tidy. Demelza left Dwight and Caroline to Ross’s company while she went to the kitchen to make sure there was enough for supper, with extra mouths to feed. Once all was in hand there, she went upstairs to make up the guest bedroom with fresh sheets, and to open the windows so the room would not be too stuffy later on. Then she stood for a few minutes, standing in the centre of the room, letting her thoughts fly wildly. This room was one that Dwight and Caroline had used before, both singly and together, on previous visits. And though it was not the bedroom that Demelza was used to – Ross had made it quite clear that their bedroom was theirs alone, and would stay that way – at least this guest room was in Nampara, as Ross had intimated to her that he would like, on the first occasion at the very least. She would have that familiarity, among the unfamiliar, for this first time.

 

Demelza touched her chest, above her heart that was thumping like the steam engine that powered Wheal Grace. First time. She had thought that blithely, for of course it _was_ the first time, but the first time might be the only time, there might be no other occasion. This experiment tonight might wreck all of Caroline’s careful plotting. Or it might lead into an unknown future, one that Demelza felt ready to embrace, though the relationship ahead of her was so wholly outside the scope of her experience.

 

Tonight would tell. Demelza had butterflies in her stomach, but she couldn’t decide if it was fear that made her feel so fluttery and anxious, or anticipation. So she quitted the room and went back downstairs, for though there would be no peace in the parlour, with Ross and Dwight and Caroline and, no doubt, the four children as well – though there would be no peace there, at least she would have the comfort of knowing that her dearest friends all felt as she did.

 

And indeed, as she’d imagined, the tension between them all was palpable when she entered the parlour, though Ross in particular was making a good attempt at concealing it. He was seated on the floor, attending to some game with Bella and Sophie, and might have appeared wholly at his ease, had it not been for his frequent glances up at both Dwight and Caroline. Dwight had taken up a newspaper, and Caroline had found a novel, but neither seemed to be particularly attending to their reading material. Demelza took up her mending, sat on the settle beside Caroline, and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was just after six o’clock. Supper would not be served until eight – the children would eat a little earlier, and be put to bed before the adults dined – and Demelza knew she could occupy herself easily until then, with frequent visits to the kitchen to ensure all was in order. Supper would be a different matter, without the distraction of childish chatter, and then afterwards…afterwards, she supposed they would all have a glass of something in the parlour or the library, and wait for the servants to be abed. She wondered what they would talk about – or if they would talk much at all. Though they had managed ordinary conversation that afternoon during their picnic, while the children had been close by, Demelza did not imagine that ordinary conversation could endure once they were alone. Not now that the decision had been made, not now that they were all standing at the cliff’s edge, preparing to jump.

 

“Demelza, you’re leaping about like a jack in the box, this evening,” Ross declared some time later, after Demelza’s third visit to the kitchen. The children had eaten and returned to the parlour for a final few minutes with their parents, and Demelza knew herself to be running out of excuses disappearing into the kitchen. “You’ll worry the servants into their graves if you go back again,” Ross added. His words were exasperated, but his expression was kind. She knew that he was trying to say that he understood her nervousness, but in truth Demelza could still hardly tell if she was more full of nerves than anticipation. Sitting beside Caroline had seemed a good idea, but more than once Demelza’s elbow had brushed against Caroline’s, or Caroline had leaned close to her to share a passage from her book, and every touch had made Demelza’s heartbeat speed up and her skin tingle. The occasional heated glance from Ross had scarcely helped. He seemed somehow able to time them for when Caroline had just touched Demelza, as if he was letting Demelza see that he knew how she was feeling, how she was reacting to those fleeting, chaste touches. It was a frank approval that she had never envisaged, six weeks before when Ross had returned from London and she had confessed to him the scheme Caroline had concocted, and confessed too that she had begun to entertain desire for Caroline in response.

 

“Have springs in your feet, Mama?” Bella asked gravely. “Like jack’n’a box?”

 

“No, dearest,” Demelza replied, equally serious. “Papa is making fun of me.” Bella insisted on inspecting Demelza’s feet to be sure, much to everyone’s amusement, and Dwight assured her that he had never seen a person with springs in their feet, nor heard of one either. Then Demelza caught sight of the time and, with some trepidation for what their absence would bring, she ushered the children from the parlour and up to bed. Caroline came with her, to tuck Sophie into bed with Bella, and afterwards, on the upstairs landing, she caught Demelza’s hand in her own and kept her from going back downstairs.

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this unsettled,” Caroline observed. “Are you – do you wish to change your mind? It’s early yet, Dwight and I can return to Killewarren –,”

 

“No,” said Demelza firmly. “I do _not_ wish that.” She glanced around, though she knew there was nobody nearby to see them, and then she lifted Caroline’s hand and pressed a kiss to it. “’Tis nerves,” she assured Caroline. “Aren’t you nervous? Even without the rest of it, I’ve never – with a woman –,”

 

“Neither have I,” Caroline confessed. “But I want to. With you.” Demelza’s breath caught in her throat, and Caroline smirked, as if she knew what effect she had on Demelza and enjoyed seeing it. “Now come, we must go back down before Dwight and Ross become too embarrassed to look at each other.”

 

Ross and Dwight had, in fact, begun a conversation about an article in the newspaper, and when Demelza and Caroline returned to the parlour, they were deeply embroiled in discussing the politics touched upon in it. They had started awkwardly, both all too aware that this was their first moment alone since the evening when Dwight had kissed Ross and fled, but before long they were talking as easily as they ever had, and Ross was infinitely glad to discover that, even now, nothing had changed so much as to irreparably damage their ability to be companionable.

 

They broke off when Demelza and Caroline returned, for Caroline had no interest in politics and Demelza had a habit of trying to apply common sense to the at-times nonsensical workings of Parliament. For a few minutes it seemed that uncomfortable silence would reign, but then Dwight asked Demelza to play a little on the spinet before supper.

 

“For,” he added, with a tilt of his head towards Caroline and a mischievous expression on his face, “it’s an accomplishment sadly lacking at Killewarren.” Caroline exclaimed at him, but didn’t deny the accusation. Ross hid a smile. It was true enough, Caroline had no musical talent whatsoever and he imagined she must have confounded any tutors of music she had been given as a child. But though he was amused, he rather thought that Caroline was still a little too strained to bear being laughed at much.

 

Demelza was smiling as she went to the spinet. “I’m hardly accomplished,” she said, “but I don’t mind the compliment.” She glanced sidelong at Ross, one eyebrow raised. “I get them rare enough,” she teased.

 

“Utter nonsense,” Ross retorted lazily. He sprawled back in his chair and admired the graceful line of her neck as she bent over her music. “I’m certain, for example, that I’ve said how well you look in that dress.”

 

“She does,” agreed Caroline. “She looks terribly pretty in it. I’ve thought so often.” When Ross looked at her, Caroline seemed almost afraid to meet his eyes. She was not blushing, but she seemed on the verge of embarrassment, as if she wasn’t quite sure whether she had misspoken. What she’d said could be passed off as a friendly compliment, but Ross knew there was more to it than that. Caroline had meant more than that. A quick glance at Dwight showed that Dwight, too, had caught the dual meanings possible in Caroline’s words, and he, like Caroline, seemed a little apprehensive about his reaction. And indeed Ross felt frozen for a moment, some part of him still struggling to process the reality of what he had permitted to take shape between them all. Then he relaxed into it, because he had agreed, and because he was interested. And because Ross dearly loved the three people sitting in the parlour with him now, in one way or another.

 

“There, you see?” he said to Demelza, without looking away from Caroline. “How can you say I never compliment you?” He offered Caroline a faint smile, lifting his eyebrow ever so slightly, trying to convey to her that she had not misspoken at all. If this relationship was to proceed – this strange, absurd entangling of marriages and friendships and loves – then they must all, Ross included, begin to learn what was and was not allowable now. The allowing of a compliment from Caroline to Demelza, the lightest of flirtations, was an easy lesson to begin with.

 

“I’m not sure that was _your_ compliment, precisely,” Demelza remarked. Then she began to play, and Ross was saved from having to rescue himself from the hole he had begun to dig.

 

Music passed the remaining time until supper, and allowed Ross an escape from attempting further mundane discourse with either Dwight or Caroline. Demelza, of course, had the perfect excuse, for despite Dwight’s flattery, she was not so accomplished as to be able to hold a conversation while playing the spinet. Ross could almost envy her for it, and for her earlier excuse that she was needed in the kitchen. Whether it had been true or not, at least it had given her an escape from the tension running between them all – an escape that Ross should have liked for himself, for though he’d agreed to this, though he had committed himself to at least the attempt, still he could not help but feel wary.

 

And his wariness was warranted. Nobody, least of all Ross, could predict what would happen this evening. For Demelza’s sake, for Caroline’s, Ross hoped that it might all fall into place. He hoped that he and Dwight might be able to summon more than curiosity for each other. He hoped that his own jealous tendencies might be smothered by the fact that his inclusion in the activities meant Demelza was not in any way betraying him and therefore there was no _reason_ to be jealous. He hoped for all these things, but Ross was not fool enough to think that it would all go smoothly. Nothing in life ever did, after all.

 

Supper passed relatively successfully, however. Conscious of the servants coming and going with food and drink, Ross made more of an effort to maintain appearances, striving to achieve a decent level of conversation on the ordinary aspects of their lives. The prospects for the harvest, the neighbours, the state of Sawle Church, the war with France. Topics that represented well-trodden ground for them all and thus provided easy enough supper conversation, despite the distractions of anticipation and anxiety.

 

Several times Ross caught Demelza watching him, her expression distant, her thoughts so guarded that even Ross, who had known her for the greater part of twenty years, could not guess at them. Once or twice, Ross saw Dwight and Caroline share a look, a silent conversation to which Ross was not privy. And once there was a glance between Caroline and Demelza, a heated look passing from one to the other. Impossible to know who had started it, but undeniable the effect it had on Ross. On Dwight, too, if Ross was any judge – Dwight fumbled with his utensils when he followed Ross’s gaze and found their wives looking at each other so, and he discreetly put a finger under his stock to loosen it. Ross felt like doing the same himself. It was a point upon which they could all agree, it seemed, this desire felt by Caroline, and responded to in kind by the recipient. Caroline felt it, and Demelza seemed to have grown into feeling a desire also, and for Ross and Dwight, there was clearly enough of a hot-blooded man in both of them to make even the idea of seeing the two women together an arousing one.

 

No, Caroline and Demelza were not what made Ross feel anxious. They were not what was causing a growing lump of tension in his stomach, a wariness prickling at his spine and making him unable to look Dwight in the eye. Their kiss, the other week, had been a nothingness. It had been brief, and chaste, and Ross had responded to it a little, but so little that he might easily blame it on the alcohol. And yet still Ross felt that if he was to suddenly develop an inclination for men, or at least for a man in particular, it would be for Dwight. He was resolved to keep that thought uppermost in his mind, but it could not wholly erase the anxiety.

 

At last the meal was over, the plates cleared away, and Ross suggested they all adjourn to the library. “For,” he pointed out, “it’s a little further from the kitchen, and the servants are used to not disturbing me when I’m in there.” Caroline arched an eyebrow, but nobody made any objection, so accordingly they transferred from the dining room to the library, where Ross closed the door and, after a moment’s hesitation, turned the key in the lock. Demelza had told the servants not to wait up for them, and to go to bed as usual, but Ross preferred to take no chances.

 

For a minute or two, nobody moved and nobody spoke. It was as if they were all puppets, waiting for some puppet master to move their strings – except the puppet master for this was Caroline, and she seemed as afraid as any of them to make the first move. Ross was accustomed to taking the lead in his endeavours, whether by his own choice or that of the people around him, and perhaps he ought to do so now, but he could not. His hesitations held him back, the qualms that he still felt about the whole situation rendering him silent and keeping him from taking action. The ticking of the clock on the mantel seemed to grow louder and more ominous, and Dwight in particular was looking more and more nervous with each passing moment. Still none of them said anything.

 

At last Demelza put a hand to her face and laughed a little. “I don’t b’lieve I’ve ever been so uneasy in my life,” she declared. “Won’t somebody _say_ something?”

 

“I find myself with nothing to say,” Dwight muttered. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, legs planted apart, as if he was facing up to someone, or expecting to be inspected. “Caroline,” he said, “surely _you_ have some idea…”

 

Caroline’s brief laugh was as helpless a sound as Demelza’s had been, and she shook her head. “I tried not to imagine us getting so far,” she admitted. “Or at least…” It was hard to tell in the candlelight, but Ross thought that she was blushing again. “At least,” she said, “I have thought about it, but not…not like this.”

 

Ross inhaled to ask what she had imagined, but then he caught a flash of something in Caroline’s expression, and he abruptly closed his mouth. He no longer needed to ask; she gave it away, perhaps unintentionally, without speaking a word. She had imagined them all four together in bed – as Demelza had imagined, and no doubt Dwight too, and even Ross – but had not envisaged how they might all get from one state of affairs to another. Ross had a fleeting wish for a strong drink to fortify himself with, but only for a moment. He had to be clearheaded for this.

 

“But you’re right, Dwight,” Caroline said. “You don’t say so, but I take your meaning. I instigated this. I ought to be the one to take the first step now.”

 

“Caroline,” Demelza said, almost in protest, as if she did not feel Caroline ought to take such a mantle upon herself, but Caroline had made her decision. If nobody else would take the lead, she must push aside her fear, her nerves, and do so herself. She stepped towards Demelza, who stared with parted lips and wide eyes but made no attempt to move away as Caroline approached her, and brushed her fingertips across Demelza’s cheek, and then kissed her.

 

It was both like and unlike the previous kisses they had shared. The third kiss, the chaste thing on the beach this afternoon, was hardly worth counting. The first, of course, had been tentative, exploratory – at least at the beginning, until Caroline had dared to touch the tip of her tongue to Demelza’s lower lip, and then Demelza had made a sound in her throat, spurring Caroline into boldness. Demelza made the same sound now as Caroline took advantage of Demelza’s parted lips and slipped her tongue between them, delving in to taste her. Demelza met her with as much passion as Caroline could wish, her tongue fluttering against Caroline’s, her arms twining around Caroline’s waist as tightly as if she feared Caroline might be pulled from her. Caroline had no intention of letting that happen; she clutched at Demelza’s shoulder with one hand, and tangled her other hand into Demelza’s beautiful hair. The second kiss had been more like this, full of fire as Demelza had gained confidence, and Caroline eager to encourage it. Caroline’s heart was pounding a wild beat in her chest now, just as it had then. Demelza’s mouth was so perfectly shaped, her lips so soft. Demelza’s arms around Caroline’s waist, the closeness of their embrace, meant that their breasts were pressed against each other. It was hard to get much sensation, for they were both wearing stays, but even so it was utterly titillating, to know that only a few layers of fabric separated them. Caroline let her hand slip from Demelza’s shoulder, following the neckline of her gown until she could rest her fingers, lightly, on the uppermost swell of Demelza’s breast. Though still covered by cloth, at least this part of Demelza’s breasts were not bound in her stays, so Caroline could feel the softness of it, the roundness. Demelza made that noise again, a whimper catching in her throat. Caroline nipped at Demelza’s lower lip playfully, hoping for further noises. Demelza’s husky laugh was barely more than a breathless murmur. Then Demelza took her lips from Caroline’s, and Caroline was unsuccessful when she tried to chase after her. But a moment later Demelza kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw. Caroline tilted her head back and Demelza pressed a delicate kiss to soft skin where jaw met throat.

 

“God,” somebody groaned. Caroline’s eyes had closed, but she forced them open again, glancing at Dwight. His lips were parted, his eyes wide but not entirely focused. He looked half-drunk, or drugged. She had never seen him look quite like this, though she knew him in all his moods, lustful or otherwise. This was a new expression, new and delightful, something to be savoured. Demelza kissed Caroline’s mouth again, a soft and gentle kiss that distracted Caroline for a moment. Then Caroline and Demelza both turned their heads to look at Ross. It was he who had spoken that rough-voiced blasphemy; he stood staring at them, arms folded across his chest in a manner that seemed almost defensive. No, not defensive – not quite. He looked as though he had folded his arms to keep from reaching out, to keep from touching. His hands tucked into the crooks of his elbows, chin down and eyes fierce, in his own way Ross looked as intoxicated as Dwight.

 

“Ross,” Demelza murmured. Her voice lilted up at the end just a little, turning his name into a question. She didn’t move. Her hands remained at Caroline’s waist, and Caroline followed Demelza’s cue and kept her fingers tangled in Demelza’s hair and her other hand resting, gently, on the swell of Demelza’s breast. She could feel how it rose and fell with each of Demelza’s breaths, faster than normal, matching the beat of Caroline’s own heart.

 

“Sometimes,” Ross said, and then fell silent. Demelza twitched beneath Caroline’s hands, but still she made no attempt to move. Caroline combed her fingers through Demelza’s hair, and then wound one curl around her finger. Dwight inhaled loudly, and Caroline glanced at him, found the reassurance she was looking for, and then turned back to Ross, who was still staring but now shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Sometimes,” Ross said again, “one’s imagination…”

 

“It falls short,” Dwight agreed. He took a step closer – Caroline heard his footstep on the floor – and Ross’s gaze seemed to grow even sharper, even fiercer. “Caroline,” Dwight said, voice half-strangled. “ _Caroline_ …”

 

“I think they want to see us again,” Caroline said to Demelza. She felt a laugh bubbling up in her throat, but she swallowed it down. Laughter would certainly make Ross prickle up into cynical, distrustful mood, and that was the last thing Caroline wanted. He so clearly enjoyed what he had seen, and Dwight had liked it too – she had been certain they both would, but it had been the kind of certainty that only needed the slightest brush with reality to tarnish it. Now her certainty had touched reality, but it had not been tarnished. “May I?” Caroline prompted, when Demelza gave no response.

 

She wasn’t quite asking Demelza, or Ross, or Dwight. Not each individually. She asked all three of them, and all three gave a response, Dwight’s a murmured, fervent ‘yes’, Demelza’s a tightening of hands at Caroline’s waist, and Ross with a curt, sharp nod. Caroline smiled at nobody in particular and then she and Demelza kissed again. Demelza’s lips were moist, and Caroline licked across them and then let Demelza’s tongue delve into her mouth, flickering at Caroline’s own tongue, tasting and exploring. Caroline closed her eyes again, and stroked her fingers against Demelza’s breast. She wished for fewer layers, but that would happen soon enough, or so she hoped.

 

“I have to – _God_ , Demelza –,”

 

Caroline barely had time to process what she heard before there was another hand at her waist, covering Demelza’s, almost pressing them together. Ross had joined them, his gaze fixed on their mouths until they parted again, and then he seemed not to know whether he preferred to look at Demelza’s mouth or Caroline’s. Caroline knew her own opinion – Demelza’s lips were plump and saliva-slicked and so beautiful to look at – but she did not offer it to Ross, whose eyes darted from Demelza to Caroline and back again until Demelza spoke.

 

“Kiss me,” she said, breathlessly. It did not sound like an order, though Ross obeyed with an alacrity that made it seem so. Demelza stayed in Caroline’s embrace, her arms still around Caroline’s waist, but she turned her head to allow Ross to kiss her. Caroline felt heat coiling in her loins, rushing through her veins, at the sight of it. This close to him, to them both, she could see how Ross took possession of Demelza’s mouth, licking into her as if he wanted to taste her, to drink her in – to taste Caroline on Demelza’s lips. Caroline’s breath hitched in a soft, plaintive note that she would never consciously allow herself to make. But it was made, and they all heard her. Ross broke the kiss and gave Caroline a quick glance. Then he looked at Dwight, and whatever he saw in Dwight seemed to give him permission. Ross lifted his hand from Caroline’s waist, cupped her cheek, and bent his head to kiss her.

 

Caroline had imagined what this would be like, but as Ross and Dwight had both remarked, sometimes the imagination fell far short. No amount of daydreaming, no fantasies she had ever concocted, could compare to the reality of being kissed by Ross. Ross’s mouth was a little wider than Dwight’s, his lips a little thinner, and his cheeks and chin and upper lip were far more bristled than Dwight’s ever became, even at the end of a long day. Dwight preferred a close shave, and Caroline could not recall ever seeing Ross without at least a hint of stubble. It made for an interesting sensation, a slight roughness as his mouth slanted over hers. There was no hesitation in Ross, none at all, and he kissed Caroline as if they had done this a hundred times before. His tongue stroked against hers, his hand on her cheek directed the angle of her head. Caroline’s toes curled in her shoes, and she pulled her fingers free from Demelza’s locks so that she could repeat the gesture in Ross’s own wayward hair, tangling herself in him as a way to keep him close. She heard Demelza give a gasp, a high-pitched, breathy sound, but Caroline’s eyes had fallen shut and she could not open them again. There were three hands at her waist now; Demelza’s two, and Ross’s pressed warm against the small of her back. Caroline felt surrounded by them, held by them – _loved_ by them, at least in this way. They loved her at least in this way.

 

But there was somebody missing. Dwight should be here with her. Much as Caroline was enjoying this kiss from Ross – and _oh_ , she was enjoying it a great deal, for Ross was, as she had once suggested to Dwight that he might be, talented with his tongue – and much as she was relishing Demelza’s embrace, still she wanted Dwight. When Ross left her, with one last tease of his tongue, Caroline did not protest. Instead she turned to Dwight, who was still staring with that half-drugged look, even now, even after seeing her and Ross kiss. Not that she’d been terribly worried, jealousy had never been one of Dwight’s faults, but it was reassuring nonetheless. Caroline stretched out a hand, a silent summons to her husband, and he came to her at once. Her cheek was still cupped in Ross’s hand when Dwight kissed her, and the feeling it gave Caroline was indescribable. The caress of Dwight’s lips and tongue against hers, familiar but never stale through familiarity; the calluses on Ross’s palm against her cheek, almost ticklish; the warmth of Demelza’s hands at her waist, holding her gently but firmly. Caroline’s skin was tingling, her whole being suffused with happiness and a growing need that was building further with every touch, from any one of her companions.

 

At length Ross’s hand left Caroline’s cheek, and Dwight withdrew from her also, with one last press of his lips to hers. Caroline tried to catch her breath, but barely had a moment to do so before Demelza took Dwight’s place, offering Caroline a chaste, sweet kiss.

 

“Ross asked me, the other day, what I’d feel if he said he’d kissed you,” Demelza murmured against Caroline’s mouth. Caroline’s eyes were half-closed, her lips somewhat swollen. Demelza had known she had begun to feel desire for Caroline, and she had thought that she had begun to understand what that meant, but she was realising, now, that she had barely touched the surface of it. “I didn’t know,” she added. She glanced at Ross to see if he remembered the conversation. He had drawn ever-closer to Demelza when Dwight had joined their tangled group, though his hand had stayed at Caroline’s cheek even while Dwight had kissed her. Now Ross had an arm around Demelza’s shoulders, his hand resting on her upper arm, so angled that all he would have to do was drop his head down and he would be able to kiss her in that particular place on her neck that always pleased her so. His cheeks were flushed, his pupils dilated, both pleasing signs that Ross was struggling to restrain himself against his passions.

 

“You said you thought you wouldn’t mind if you saw it,” he said roughly, in answer to her unspoken prompt. “And do you?”

 

“Not at all,” Demelza replied, pleased that she could say so truthfully. “I don’t mind, seeing it.” Caroline gave a breathless giggle, barely more than a huff of air, and Demelza looked back at her and smiled, and smiled at Dwight, who looked as she had never seen him before. He looked dishevelled, in some indefinable way. Not in his clothing or general appearance, though his hair was a little wayward after an afternoon on the beach, but something in his eyes and general expression hinted that Dwight was not entirely composed.

 

“We needn’t ask if they like to see _us_ kiss,” laughed Caroline. “Dear Dwight.” She turned her head towards Dwight and kissed him, soft and gentle. Demelza watched, filled with an odd fascination that she would never have allowed to blossom before, even if she had felt it stirring. To see Caroline and Dwight kiss – it was something private, between them. Demelza could count on one hand the number of times she had seen anything more than an occasional brief, almost perfunctory, kiss of greeting between them. Nor had they often seen Ross and Demelza embracing like that, for the same reason: it was too intimate to be shared publicly, even among such close friends as Caroline and Dwight. And yet now Demelza could look, and found herself wanting to look, because the boundaries of intimacy had shifted, and would shift further still over the course of tonight. She glanced at Ross to see if he shared her feelings, but his head was bowed and his eyes closed. Perhaps he felt it was too intimate still, though Demelza thought it would be odd if he did, after the kisses that had just been shared among and between marriages. She nudged him gently with her shoulder, and Ross’s eyes flew open. It took a moment, but then a corner of his mouth lifted a little, and he gave the smallest of nods. He was here, he was with her. Whatever he was thinking or feeling, he was not – yet – backing away from this.

 

Dwight and Caroline parted. Dwight cleared his throat, lifted a hand to rub two fingers against his mouth. Demelza stared, but only for a second. Then she lowered her gaze, not yet willing to be caught looking. Not until Ross had some chance to determine his reactions to that particular aspect of the affair.

 

“Well,” said Dwight, and then he paused. Ross lifted his head. Demelza caught a glimpse of his expression from the corner of her eye, a flash of dark eyes and clenched jaw. Apprehension, rather than anticipation, made Demelza feel jittery now, and it was not a comfortable feeling. “Well,” Dwight said again. “Caroline is right, of course. And having established those facts…I suppose there are two other things that we ought to try, before we proceed any further.” Ross said nothing. Demelza met Caroline’s eyes, found her own fear reflected there, and had to look away. “Besides,” Dwight added, with a forced levity, “I’d much rather be struck now than later.”

 

“I won’t strike you,” said Ross. His voice was low, measured, and he made no other promise, gave no reassurances about what he might be feeling. Demelza’s heart was pounding, the beat of it over-loud in her ears. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, looked anxiously at Ross for some sign that he was willing to _see_ , at least, what reaction he might have. If he was jealous – if it was too much – then nothing else would matter. Not her developing passion for Caroline, not those tentative thoughts of Dwight, not her deepening love for them both. Nothing mattered in the way Ross mattered. Nothing. If it was impossible for Ross, then it would be impossible for Demelza also.

 

“I may hold you to that,” warned Dwight. Ross shrugged a shoulder and remained silent, but a muscle in his jaw twitched. Demelza opened her mouth to say that nothing need happen, that they could still all change their minds and go back to the way it had been before, but Ross cut her a glance that silenced whatever words she might have spoken. Then he looked back at Dwight, and gave a deliberate nod. Dwight exhaled noisily, and he touched Demelza’s hand, where it was still resting on Caroline’s waist. “Demelza?” he said, as if Ross’s agreement was not enough for him. Demelza took a shaky breath, and caught Caroline’s eye one more time. Caroline was being unusually silent, her lips parted and eyes wide. She, like Demelza, knew how important this could be. Demelza looked at Dwight, and tried to summon a smile to accompany her nod. Dwight’s gaze flickered across her face, seeming to look for something more, but then – at last – he acted. He tangled their fingers together and drew her hand away from Caroline, coaxing Demelza into turning a little. Then Dwight ducked his head and kissed her.

 

It was as strange as Demelza’s first kiss with Caroline had been, in its own way. Though Dwight was, of course, a man, Demelza had kissed so few men except Ross, and she was _unused_ to kissing anyone except him. Kissing Caroline had been so markedly different from kissing any man that the strangeness had been all in the novelty, the softness of Caroline’s lips and the smoothness of her cheeks. With Dwight…with Dwight, the differences were subtler, but she seemed to feel them just as much. His evening stubble was less than Ross’s, his lips a little plumper, and he kissed – he kissed more tentatively, but Demelza couldn’t expect anything else. And there was something else, too, something infinitely tender and sweet about it, some peculiar quality that she rarely experienced in her kisses with Ross. Demelza held on to Dwight’s hand tightly as the tip of his tongue teased across her lower lip, and when she drew a breath, he used the opportunity to delve further, with gentle, almost shy strokes into her mouth and against her own tongue.

 

Ross’s hand left Demelza’s shoulder. He fell back a pace. Demelza felt the loss of his warmth, pressed up against her side, and though the kiss with Dwight was pleasant – extremely so – she broke it at once, spinning away from Dwight and Caroline both in favour of following Ross as he half-stumbled across the library towards the fireplace. There he leaned both arms against the mantelpiece, his head dropped between them, face hidden. Demelza heard Caroline’s murmured question and Dwight’s uneven breaths, but she ignored them both. She went to Ross’s side and touched his arm. He did not move to welcome her, nor did he speak, but he did not shrug her off. That was some slight comfort. Whatever he felt, whatever jealous spirit had risen within him, at least it had not, yet, begun to lash outwards.

 

“We’ll stop,” Demelza said softly. “We’ll stop this minute. Nothing more will happen.” Ross was silent. Demelza weighed words carefully in her mind before speaking again. “Ross, my love,” she murmured at last. “Say just one word, and Dwight and Caroline will go to bed in the guest room, and you and I will go to our room, and we will all go back to being friends. If ‘tis your wish then nobody will gainsay you, only…you must just say it, Ross.” She heard his breathing, louder than normal in the aching quiet of the library. Not a sound from Caroline or Dwight, now. They must know, as Demelza did, that in this crucial moment, nothing either of them could say would make any difference. And more than that – it was not their _place_ to speak, not at present. This was Ross’s battle, and Demelza knew that no other than she could aid him now. The new relationship with Dwight and Caroline, strange and delightful though it promised to be, was too unknown and too alien yet to be able to bear any influence on the war that Demelza knew must be waging within Ross’s heart and mind. Even Demelza might not be able to touch it, but she was the only person who could try, she who knew Ross better than anyone else in the world.

 

At last Ross stirred. Still he said nothing, but he slowly shook his head. Demelza didn’t know if he meant ‘no, this must stop’, or ‘no, he did not want it to stop’, but pressing him would not draw more of an answer, not if he was not yet ready to speak. She slid her hand up his arm to his shoulder, felt the tension of the muscles there, and wished he would straighten so that she could wrap her arms about him and hold him close to her. Then, as if he had heard her thought, he exhaled a long breath and shifted, pushing himself away from the mantelpiece and holding an arm out for her in obvious invitation. Demelza needed no further prompting; she let him fold her into his embrace, and held him tightly in return.

 

Ross was glad of her silence, and glad, too, that both Dwight and Caroline were showing discretion. A swift glance showed that they had drawn a little further away from Ross and Demelza, and were now standing close together on the other side of the library, both attempting, with varying degrees of success, to look as though they were paying no attention to the Poldarks. But even the pretence of indifference was enough to allow Ross to ignore them, at least for now. He concentrated instead on Demelza – the slender, familiar feel of her in his arms, the warmth of her pressed up against him, the smell of her filling his nostrils. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. Her hand was at the nape of his neck, fingers stroking gently through his hair. Ross focused on these physical sensations, trying to anchor himself to them so that he might distance himself, a little, from the disquieting emotional sensations that had swept through him when Dwight and Demelza had kissed. He had to face up to his emotions, of course, and he would – but for a few moments, this embrace was what he needed and wanted.

 

Ross had not felt as he expected to feel, when Dwight had kissed Demelza. He had expected jealousy, unrelenting and perhaps barely controllable, as he acknowledged was often the case with his less admirable emotions. Ross had offered a promise to Dwight, had said that he would not strike Dwight, entirely because they both knew that Ross’s temper, even now he was well-advanced into middle-age, still flared up violently at times. That was what he had expected: to be so jealous that he would have to cling to that promise to maintain a calm demeanour.

 

And he had felt jealous. To see another man, even his greatest friend, kissing Demelza…it had sent a lightning bolt of anger and pain into Ross’s heart. For a moment it was as if he had plunged into the icy sea in the dead of winter, so great had the pain been. But the pain, the jealousy, had not lasted. It had not lasted for longer than that agonising moment, and it was the erosion of his jealousy that had caused him to turn away from the sight of Dwight gently kissing Demelza, of Demelza clasping Dwight’s hand and responding to him. Ross had not understood himself, and so his instinct had been to retreat and withdraw. Not a bad instinct, but one that he knew had given an impression to Demelza, and to Dwight and Caroline, that Ross was not altogether sure he meant. He didn’t know what he wanted; he didn’t know what he felt. The jealousy, he had expected. He had not expected it to fade so quickly, and certainly not into something that felt surprisingly like curiosity.

 

Demelza shifted a little in his arms, and murmured his name. Ross took one last deep breath, and then he lifted his head and faced her.

 

“Well, my love,” he said.

 

“Well, Ross,” said Demelza. She searched his face keenly, eyes narrowed as she looked him over. Ross endeavoured to hide nothing, but he could not give her any certainties, either by expression or by word. Her eyebrows drew together in a faint frown, and she stroked her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck almost absently. “Well, Ross,” Demelza said again, but seemed at a loss for further words. It was up to him, Ross knew, to find words for both of them. He glanced across the room towards Caroline and Dwight; Dwight’s arm was around Caroline’s shoulders, letting her lean against him. No doubt she needed the support. Ross could not criticise her for needing the very same thing that he himself needed – the loving support of a spouse, given freely and without stinting. Ross returned his gaze to Demelza, who looked even more confused now, her lips parted as if she meant to speak. But she said nothing, and Ross leaned forwards to rest his forehead against hers.

 

“You want this, but still you say you will stop if I say so,” he murmured. “I marvel at your strength, my love.”

 

“I need nothing but you,” said Demelza simply. “If you cannot, then I cannot.” It was, Ross could see, a clear-cut decision on her part. Things had become straightforward for her, though he knew they had not been so before. If he could not, then she would not. Ross felt anew the old, familiar sense of wonderment that this woman, this remarkable woman, was his. She stood above all others, not an immaculate statue on a pedestal but elevated in Ross’s eyes nonetheless, raised there by her own spirit, by her generous heart and loving nature and by the way she continued to love him, despite all their troubles. If he could not, then she could not, because that was Demelza’s way.

 

Ross pressed a kiss to her lips, and could not help remembering that scant minutes before, these lips had been kissing another man. And yet her simple pronouncement served to soothe away the rough edges of his jealousy. She had kissed Dwight. Well, apparently Ross could accept that without more than an instinctive stab of jealousy. She had kissed Caroline. That was a kinder memory, and Ross welcomed it. And he himself had kissed Caroline too, and if Demelza or Dwight had been jealous, then neither of them had betrayed it in the slightest. Ross’s rational mind took these facts and exposed the awareness that his jealousy was as utterly selfish as jealousy always was. He had not protested to the one kiss, so reason suggested he ought not protest to the other – and besides, it had not _just_ been jealousy that he felt, and now that Demelza had sworn that she needed nothing but Ross, now that her reassurance was echoing in his ears, Ross was forced to focus on the other things he had felt. There had been curiosity, certainly. An interest that was tangled up in the awareness of the way all four of them had been entwined, and the way they might continue to grow together. It was not Dwight and Demelza alone, but all four of them. Demelza’s lips were swollen from kisses from Ross and from Caroline, as well as Dwight, and Ross found that there was something startlingly erotic about that.

 

He closed his eyes and remembered what he’d said to Demelza, a week ago in their bedroom, after Dwight had kissed him. After Demelza had responded so passionately to the sight of it, to the very _idea_ of Ross and Dwight. Ross had suggested that she imagined more than one mouth – he had pictured it so clearly, kissing Demelza while Caroline and Dwight suckled at a breast apiece. Ross pictured it now, and it blunted the last lingering hints of sharp jealousy. He could not be consciously jealous when he imagined such things, and enjoyed such thoughts. It was irrational. As for his instinct to it – well, he had already known that he must force himself to unlearn that instinct, and though it would likely not be a quick lesson, it was one he felt surprisingly determined to learn. The trust that was being extended to him, Ross could and must return.

 

“I do not say so,” he said at last. “I don’t wish for us to stop.” A shudder ran through Demelza, scarcely visible but enough for Ross to feel it, with his arms wrapped around her. He heard a queer, choked kind of sob from the other end of the room; he had spoken loudly enough for all to hear, and Caroline’s relief was obvious. Ross stretched out a hand to her, met Dwight’s eyes for long enough to see Dwight’s relief was just as great as Caroline’s, and then Ross gestured them both back over. Demelza held tight to Ross still, and a glint in her eye warned that she might become stubborn should anyone suggest she move. Ross didn’t suggest it; indeed, he was equally reluctant to part with her. Even when Caroline stepped lightly across the room, even when Dwight came fast on her heels…even then Ross did not entirely let go of Demelza. He dropped one arm, anchored the other with a hand at her hip, and Demelza rested her head on his shoulder and shuddered again, imperceptibly.

 

“Forgive me,” Ross said to Caroline and Dwight both. “I…I didn’t intend to give the impression that I had changed my mind.”

 

“You were jealous,” Dwight said. There was an air of agitation about him, quite unlike his usual demeanour. Ross disliked it, but he couldn’t precisely say why he did so. In any other situation, with any other person, Ross might put it down to any number of reasons. But this was not any other situation, nor any other person, and he disliked seeing Dwight so on edge, so cautious and yet so utterly exposed. Ross disliked it. “I expected nothing else,” Dwight added. “So then how can we continue?”

 

“I was jealous,” Ross had to agree. “But…not just jealous.” He met Demelza’s eyes briefly in a shared acknowledgement that he was repeating her words, spoken a week earlier when he had pretended that he had kissed Caroline. “Not just jealous,” he said again. He couldn’t, and didn’t, attempt to explain the complexity of what his feelings had been, nor the conclusions he had come to in the minutes since he had torn himself away from the others. Ross wasn’t sure that such things could be put into speech, even had he been inclined to try, but beyond that, he felt the time for words was ended, at least for the present. More would need to be said later, but for now, only actions could convince. “It will pass,” was all he said, when Dwight gave him a sceptical look. “It wasn’t all I felt.”

 

For a minute or two, nobody spoke. Dwight’s uneasiness lingered, betrayed by a certain strain around his eyes and mouth, and Caroline seemed unable or unwilling to speak, her lips pressed tightly together, as if to keep any sound hidden away. Then, at last, Demelza lifted her head from Ross’s shoulder and tucked her hair behind her ears.

 

“I think we ought to see if I feel jealous, too,” she murmured, glancing at Ross from beneath her eyelashes. “I admit the fault, on occasion.”

 

“But you’ve already seen Caroline and I kiss,” Ross objected. The façade of Demelza’s demureness slipped, and Ross choked on air. “Oh,” he managed. “You mean –,”

 

“I agree,” Caroline said suddenly. “We ought to see if we women are jealous, if you men have decided you are not.” She turned to Dwight, but indicated towards Ross with a tilt of her head. “Fair is fair, dear Dwight,” she teased. “Demelza has a point, don’t you think?”

 

“I’m not convinced by your argument,” Dwight muttered, “but I’m willing to concede.” It would scarcely be a hardship, kissing Ross again – perhaps kissing him properly, the way Dwight had only ever kissed women before – but just as he had needed Demelza’s explicit permission earlier, now he needed Ross’s agreement. He looked at Ross, who was still coughing a little, cheeks flushed from it. There was something in Ross’s expression, though, that made Dwight think the suggestion was not as much of a surprise as Ross was implying. It wasn’t much, barely more than the set of Ross’s jaw and a twitch in the muscle of his cheek, but it was enough. Before Dwight had kissed Demelza, he had spoken of two things that must be tested before they could proceed, and they had all known what those two things were. One had been tried – with mixed success, for Dwight was not convinced by Ross’s protestation that his jealousy would fade. The other test still lay before them.

 

Ross still stood with an arm around Demelza, and he did not move away from her, but he cleared his throat, and met Dwight’s eyes. Ross was so often difficult to read, but now, just for a moment, he seemed utterly laid bare under Dwight’s gaze. It almost took Dwight’s breath away to see such vulnerability in Ross’s eyes – something he had so rarely seen before, almost always at times when Demelza, or one of the children, had been under Dwight’s medical care. Times when Ross had been forced to cede control and let Dwight carry out his profession. It was the vulnerability of somebody who knew how much he had to lose. Then the shutters were closed, and Ross became impenetrable once more.

 

“Yes,” he said. “I suppose I agree.”

 

“Please, there’s no need to overwhelm me with enthusiasm,” said Dwight dryly. It was an attempt, however misplaced, to lighten the mood, and it worked a little. Caroline smothered a gentle laugh behind her hand, and Demelza’s eyes were dancing with amusement, but Ross merely lifted an eyebrow, unaffected. Dwight let go of his feigned levity. “In all seriousness, Ross,” he said, “we ought to try. But I need…” Dwight cleared his throat, aware of three pairs of eyes fixed upon him. “I need to know you’re agreeable,” he finished.

 

“Agreeable,” Ross repeated, with a certain grimness. “Well, I suppose we’ll see, won’t we.” He took his arm from around Demelza’s waist and took a stride forward, closing the gap between he and Dwight. His arm came up, hand coming to rest on Dwight’s shoulder, and Dwight barely had a second to understand Ross’s intent before Ross was kissing him.

 

It was no timid, tentative thing, this kiss. It was as if Ross had decided that if he was to do this, then he would do so wholeheartedly, flinging himself headlong into it the way he flung himself into any other scrape or scheme. His hand firmly on Dwight’s shoulder, his mouth firm against Dwight’s, Ross was an intoxicating force, and at first all Dwight could do was let it happen, let Ross kiss him, let himself be swallowed up by the sensation of it. Ross kissed as if all else was unimportant; as if the world had dwindled down to this moment. He was demanding with it, teeth and tongue and lips. At last Dwight’s sluggish body caught up with his mind, and Dwight began to meet the kiss and to make his own demands. He finally discovered what Ross tasted like, tongue sliding against tongue, lips against lips. It sent a shiver down Dwight’s spine, the knowledge that this was real and that Ross was kissing him as if he meant it. This was _real_. Dwight knew now that there was no question, on his part, that he could desire Ross. The seeds of it had been sown, and the first seedlings were pushing out of the darkness and stretching towards the bright, hot light that was Ross.

 

He lifted his hand and cupped Ross’s cheek. It was instinctive, a movement he often made when kissing Caroline, but of course it felt wholly different with Ross. Where Caroline’s cheek was smooth, Ross’s was coarse with bristles. The shape of him was different too, the jaw broader and more defined under Dwight’s hand. Undeniably masculine, where Caroline was always undeniably feminine. The differences themselves sent a frisson of excitement through Dwight, and where before he had held back – to protect himself and to avoid enraging Ross – now Dwight allowed himself to truly feel how much he enjoyed this. All evening, before and during supper, Dwight’s desire had been building slowly but surely, anticipation proving headier than any wine. Then to see Caroline and Demelza kiss – and not a brief peck, as on the beach that afternoon, but a true lovers’ kiss…Dwight had barely been able to keep from reaching out to them, and he knew Ross had felt the same.

 

Afterwards, when Ross’s restraint had broken, Dwight had been startlingly aroused by seeing Ross kissing Demelza, and then Caroline. He had not expected such a strong reaction to that, but he _had_ reacted, and would not deny it to himself. As for kissing Demelza, all Dwight could think was that Caroline had been right, all those weeks ago when she had admitted to kissing Demelza. Caroline had said that kissing Demelza was like kissing sunshine, and Dwight had felt that. He had felt Demelza’s warmth and gentleness and had felt that nobody in the world could help but love Demelza. Ross wasn’t the same; Ross was too much a storm to be loved by all. Respect, admiration – yes, those were always due to Ross, and were given him by all but the stupidest or most prejudiced. But love…that was reserved for those who knew him best.

 

Ross’s hand left Dwight’s shoulder and came to cup his cheek, mirroring Dwight’s own stance. The kiss that had started as a challenge, as a gamble, was turning into something else. Dwight felt hot and slightly dizzy; his cock was heavy between his legs. Somebody, perhaps Demelza, made a sound, a soft moan – and Dwight found himself echoing it as Ross’s teeth caught at his lower lip. He didn’t know what Ross felt, what Ross was thinking. He didn’t know if Ross truly meant this kiss, or if it was a mere experiment, even now – even now that Dwight’s lips felt swollen and his cheeks chapped by Ross’s stubble. For a few heartbeats, those were considerations that Dwight could not entertain.

 

And then, with the same abruptness with which it had begun, the kiss was over. Ross’s hand fell away from Dwight’s face, and he shook away Dwight’s hand from himself. They were both breathing heavily. Ross stared, wild-eyed, at Dwight, and Dwight stared back, unwilling be the first to look away, to concede that slight edge of power to Ross, even though Dwight knew that Ross was the one with all the power, in this situation. All the cards were Ross’s, and even going forwards – if they went forwards – Dwight was fairly sure that Ross would remain the dominant force in this strange, unfamiliar relationship. Ross was like that; a leader by nature, not choice. Caroline had begun this, but it would be Ross who sustained it. Still, Dwight would not look away first.

 

Dimly, he heard Caroline’s voice. He could not distinguish the words, his blood roaring too loudly in his ears, but in a moment Dwight felt her hand on his arm, and then she was in front of him, between he and Ross, reaching up to hold his face in her hands and then kissing him. It made Dwight look away from Ross, dragged his focus back to the familiar form of his wife, but at least the choice to look away had not been his own. Caroline kissed him desperately, hungrily, moaning into his mouth when he circled her tongue with his own, her hands hot against his cheeks. If they had been alone, Dwight would have grasped hold of her and brought her closer, he would have pressed against her so she could feel how aroused he was, but they were not alone.

 

They were not alone, but it struck Dwight, suddenly, that there was no need to hide it. Not from Demelza and Ross, not after what had already passed between them. Ross had not stopped it; he had not said no. Dwight would demand a verbal affirmation before they continued much further, for he had no illusions about the value of a mere lack of protest, but even so, the current silence allowed some leeway in the boundaries of what might and might not be allowable. He put his hands at Caroline’s waist and tugged her closer. She moaned again, that particular sound that he knew well.

 

Then – _oh_ , then there was another mouth, another face pressed close, a hand tangling with Caroline’s at Dwight’s face. It was Demelza. Her mouth, her face, her hand, nudging into the kiss and taking what she could from it. It became a confusion of lips and tongues and panting breaths, Dwight hardly able to tell who he was touching, whose tongue was teasing at his or whose mouth was brushing across his jaw. The ‘who’ ceased to matter. All that mattered was that this kiss continued, and that they could continue to press close to each other – but it also increasingly mattered that there was something missing from this. There was someone missing. Ross was conspicuous by his absence, and Dwight turned his head, forced his eyes open and looked for the missing member of their quartet.

 

He met Ross’s gaze, and saw an expression in Ross’s face that was undeniably lustful. Dwight gasped with relief, the force of it hitting him hard enough to drag his attention away from the two women. They seemed not to mind losing his focus, at least for a moment or two; Demelza was kissing her way across Caroline’s jaw, and then she paused and lavished attention on a certain point of Caroline’s throat. Dwight tried to swallow, found his mouth too dry, and stretched out a hand towards Ross, a silent plea for Ross to join them. Ross _must_ join them, unless his decision was that he could not suffer the jealousy and could not feel any desire for Dwight. But surely Ross could not have allowed things to progress so far and yet say no.

 

“Please,” Dwight entreated. He had not meant to speak, to beg, but it came out without his permission. “Please,” he said again. And Demelza chimed in, turning towards Ross and murmuring his name. Her mouth was wet, her eyes dark and languid. Caroline, too, ceased moving, ceased kissing the closest person, though she hid her face against Dwight’s shoulder. He could feel how she trembled. Every one of Demelza’s breaths made her breasts brush against Dwight’s arm.

 

Ross joined them.

 

It had somehow become inconceivable that he would not join them. Somehow, over the past few minutes, all of his arguments against it had melted away, leaving only traces behind, like the surf of a receding wave on the sand. It was not that he did not still have reservations. The lingering feeling of jealousy was still there when he watched Demelza with Dwight, though it was tempered by the interest at the way Demelza entwined herself into Dwight’s embrace with Caroline. And he still could not say how far his interest in Dwight went – for he was interested, he was intrigued, he was aroused. That much was clear, now. Ross had flung himself into the kiss with Dwight expecting to feel next to nothing, but he had felt a great deal more than nothing. The kiss had fanned his arousal, dimmed by the confusion of jealousy and curiosity, back into full flame. A kiss with Dwight, with a man, had sent shivers of anticipation through his body, had stirred his cock and made Ross want _more_. He didn’t know what that more was, but he knew that he wanted it.

 

No, there was no turning back now. Ross joined the three tangled together, because there was no longer any other path open to him. He was not corralled in that direction, felt no pressure or manipulation. It was simply that the other doors were closed, while this one stood wide open.

 

Ross kissed Demelza’s forehead, a benediction that he knew she needed, and he put his hand to Caroline’s head and rubbed his thumb against the fine hairs just behind her ear. To Dwight he said nothing, did nothing, but they met each others’ eyes and Ross knew that Dwight understood.

 

Then, because all three of them seemed arrested in place – such a sharp contrast to their passion of a moment before – Ross stroked a single finger down Demelza’s neck, landing just at the place where her pulse raced. Demelza shivered and tilted her head to one side. This was one of her weak points, this place at her throat. Ross loved to kiss her there, relishing the sounds he drew and the way he could feel her pulse leaping beneath his lips. He sometimes felt it was unfair, that such a pleasurable spot was so often out in the open for all to see, and yet he had always felt a sharp kind of possessive pleasure at knowing that he was the only person who knew how she melted when he nuzzled and kissed and sucked at that sensitive skin.

 

Now he would not be the only person to know that, but Ross found that he didn’t mind.

 

“Here,” he rasped. “Kiss her here. She likes that.”

 

Ross spoke to both Dwight and Caroline, without caring which should obey his command, but when Caroline was the one to respond, it sent a bolt of desire right into him, a shiver down his spine and heat coiling low in his belly. Caroline bent her head and kissed Demelza’s throat, gently at first and then less so, her tongue flicking across Demelza’s pale skin and then teeth scraping across the same place. Demelza gasped, her head lolled back against Dwight’s shoulder, and Ross pressed closer to them all. Caroline did something that made Demelza moan, and Ross found Demelza’s mouth and kissed the sound away. There was a hand on his back and another at his shoulder, and somebody began to nuzzle at Ross’s neck above his stock – Dwight, it could only be Dwight, for the rasp of his stubble against Ross’s skin. It was dizzying, every tiny movement heightening Ross’s arousal, every movement causing a ripple effect among everybody else. Caroline left Demelza’s neck and fought Ross for Demelza’s mouth; that became a kiss between Ross and Caroline, fierce and deep and then suddenly turning softer, gentler. Somebody grasped the lapel of Ross’s coat, tugging a little. Ross reached out to touch – he didn’t care who – and found the soft curve of Demelza’s breast beneath her stays. Caroline was gasping, so Ross allowed her space to breathe and sought another mouth. Dwight, this time. Dwight, again. And now that Ross had broken the ice, now that he had plunged in and found the waters not so cold after all, Ross could concentrate on all the ways that kissing Dwight was different to kissing any woman. All the ways in which Dwight responded, too, the panting breaths and soft sounds and the shiver when Ross delved into his mouth and claimed every part of it.  

 

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour. The sound slowly penetrated the haze of sensation in which Ross was lost, and it was only when Caroline groaned a complaint that he paid attention.

 

“Oh God,” she was saying, “only ten o’clock!”

 

“It can’t be,” Ross said, craning his neck to see the clock. It felt as though hours had passed since they had left the dining room and sequestered themselves in the library. It must be later than that, Ross was sure. It could not have been much before ten when they had finished the last scrapings of the strawberry tarts Demelza had served for dessert, and surely it had been at least an hour since then.

 

But the clock confirmed Caroline’s words. It was ten o’clock, and it would be at least another half an hour before they could be sure that all the servants were in bed, and a little longer than that before it would be safe for he and Demelza to leave their bedroom and creep down the upstairs hall to the guest room. Betsy Maria Martin slept in the kitchen, and slept heavily; she would not waken before morning for anything short of being shaken. There was no danger there. The Gimletts were closer, on the same floor but in the other wing of the house. They slept more lightly, as a rule, but they would be far enough away from the guest room that Ross could be reasonably sure of privacy. But in any case the Gimletts would not be abed yet, no matter that Demelza had told them to go as usual, and not wait up. John and Jane Gimlett respected and obeyed Demelza in every particular, but Ross knew of more than one occasion where they had been told not to wait up, but had done so anyway, just in case they were needed.

 

Usually he would be glad of such devoted, faithful servants. They were still a refreshing change to Jud and Prudie, even all these years after they had come. But tonight he wished they had obeyed, and gone to bed earlier. It was dark outside, and the mornings came early in these hot July days. The Gimletts ought to be safely in bed, and then – and then –

 

Then there would be nothing stopping them all from going upstairs and taking things further. Ross’s mouth was dry as he thought about undressing them – no, not undressing them, he wanted to see them undress. He had always liked seeing Demelza bare herself to him, the trust between them so explicit in those moments. They would all go to separate bedrooms first; likely they would all end up in nightshirts and dressing gowns – no, he corrected himself, just shirt and shift, for Dwight and Caroline had not come with the intent to stay. Still, they would all be more or less covered, and the process of disrobing…it would be awkward to begin with, he knew that. For all of them, not least himself. He had been around other naked men before, of course, both in the army and since, when line-fishing with friends and neighbours in Sawle Cove or Hendrawna Beach. But never before had he ever looked at a man with interest, with attraction and desire hot and heavy in his gut. Even now he could hardly believe it. But his body’s reactions were clear, and Ross could not deny it – and, more curiously, he found he had no _wish_ to deny it. Whatever was beginning to exist between the four of them, his attraction to Dwight, and Dwight’s to him, must be an acknowledged part of it, else it would never work.

 

“When,” Dwight gasped, “when will the servants –,”

 

“They belong to be gone by now, but Jane will still be about,” said Demelza. Her lips were swollen. There was a reddened mark on her neck, from lips and teeth and stubble. The top two hooks of her dress were undone, revealing a tantalising glimpse of her stays. Caroline, too, looked a little worse for wear, her lace fichu pushed aside and her hair tumbling loose from its pins. Dwight’s necktie was missing. A glance around showed it to be on the floor, at risk of being trodden underfoot. Ross’s own necktie was loose, and his waistcoat buttons half undone. He could not quite remember how any of this disarray had come to pass.

 

“Maybe we ought to go up,” Caroline suggested breathlessly. “Maybe if we’re in bed – they’ll think –,”

 

“Yes,” said Ross at once, seizing upon the suggestion before Caroline could even finish speaking. “Yes – Demelza?”

 

“I’ll tell Jane,” Demelza assured him. She broke away from them all and went towards the door, but Caroline reached out and caught her elbow.

 

“Your dress, Demelza,” she said. “Here – let me –,” She pulled Demelza back a little, and carefully fastened the two loose hooks. Demelza’s breast heaved beneath her hand, though Caroline tried not to let her fingers linger. There was a mark on Demelza’s neck, and Caroline couldn’t help touching it with just the tip of her forefinger. Behind her, she heard one of the men inhale, as if to speak, but no words were spoken. Caroline met Demelza’s eyes and lost herself, for a few moments, in the affection she saw there. Then Caroline dropped her hand and shook her head. “It won’t do,” she said. “You look far too debauched. Ross, darling, you’ll have to tell Mrs Gimlett we’re retiring, while Demelza smuggles herself upstairs.”

 

A flush rose in Demelza’s cheeks, and she patted at her hair with a self-conscious air. “Oh,” she said. “But you’re no better, Caroline.” Caroline shrugged one shoulder, which had the effect of resettling her fichu back into something approaching its original place, but her hair was a loss, and she was sure she had lost some pins, pulled from her hair by exploring hands. No doubt she would find some when undressing, or one of Demelza’s serving girls would find them on the library floor in the morning and wonder how they had come to be there. Caroline hardly cared. She had enjoyed too much the feel of those hands, an unfamiliar touch combing through her hair, pulling her closer. She could not remember whose hand it had been, if she had known at all. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they were all here, together, and that all three of the others were leaping into the unknown with her.

 

“Make sure the candles are out, then,” Ross said gruffly. He came past Caroline, buttoning up his waistcoat as he went. He unlocked the library door, and the candles flickered in the draft as he went out, closing the door behind him. For a heartbeat or two there was silence in the library, and then Demelza brushed her hand across her mouth and gave herself a visible shake.

 

“We’d best go up,” she murmured. “Here, Dwight, take a candle – oh, your necktie…” Demelza bent to retrieve it. Caroline watched her, admiring anew the graceful lines of the other woman, and when she looked up, she caught Dwight watching Demelza, too. Her heart felt so full, too full to name each individual feeling. Her face ached from her smile and the only thing she could think was how happy she was. Demelza straightened, and to keep busy, Caroline went to the mantelpiece and took up one of the candlesticks for herself. Her hand shook, and she spilled a drop of grease on the floor, but nobody else noticed.

 

“You’re in the guest room you’ve been in before,” Demelza was saying. “Can you find your way up? I’ll blow out the candles here and then –,” She faltered. Caroline turned back to her, saw that Demelza’s nerves had reappeared, and found that her own nervousness increased tenfold in knowing that Demelza was also anxious. Caroline looked at Dwight, silently entreating him for help, and Dwight came to her rescue.

 

“Of course we can,” he said to Demelza. “Then I suggest we wait for some time – half an hour, perhaps? – before we reunite.” Demelza nodded. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth. “Is it to be…” Dwight cleared his throat. “Do we come to your room, or…”

 

“No, we’ll come to you,” Demelza said at once. She smiled, somewhat apologetically, as if to make up for her haste. “Ross don’t want us to – not in our room,” she admitted. “Not this first time, anyway.” Caroline wasn’t sure she understood why that Ross might want that, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter where it would take place, what mattered was that at last they were all prepared for it – or, if not prepared, then at least all _wanting_ it. For months Caroline had thought of little else but this. Not just the act itself, but the love and closeness that she wanted to share with Demelza and Ross and Dwight. All four of them, joined closer together than they had been before, bound together with love and friendship, still two separate marriages but a new and closer bond between them all nonetheless. She didn’t care if it happened in Ross and Demelza’s bedroom, or her own, or in a guest bedroom in either house, so long as it happened. Caroline’s stomach was fluttering, her breasts were heavy and desperate for touch, and when she moved she could feel dampness between her thighs. She did not quite know how she would bear half an hour’s wait, but bear it she must.

 

They went upstairs together, she and Dwight, to the familiar guestroom just along the landing from the master bedroom. The sheets were fresh, there was water in the wash basin, and a jug of flowers was set on the windowsill beside the open window. Caroline went to stand at the window, searching for a breeze to cool herself with. Half an hour to wait. Already she could hear footsteps – Demelza’s – on the stairs and along the landing. Within the bedroom, she could hear the quiet sounds that Dwight made. A whisper of cloth, perhaps as he removed his waistcoat. The tread of his feet on the floor. His breathing, still a trifle uneven from the embrace downstairs. Caroline knew her own heart was still racing, stuttering like a butterfly was trapped in her chest.

 

“I daren’t touch you,” Dwight said after a while. “Not right now.”

 

Caroline pressed her cheek to the cold glass. “No,” she agreed. “No, I suspect you’re right.” The roses in the vase were fragrant, and she breathed the scent in, remembering how Demelza smelled and the heady feeling of Ross’s mouth taking possession of her. The caress of Dwight’s hands, and Demelza’s lips on Caroline’s face, her neck, her arms. An image came, unbidden, into Caroline’s mind: Demelza’s lips elsewhere on Caroline’s body. On her breasts, her nipples, her stomach – Demelza kneeling over Caroline, her head between Caroline’s legs, her mouth at Caroline’s sex, suckling at her nub. It sent a lightning strike of desire straight into her sex, and Caroline gasped and clutched at the windowsill, closing her eyes as if she could rid herself of the vision by shutting out the candlelit room.

 

“Caroline?”

 

“Just – thinking,” Caroline murmured. “And…hoping.”

 

Dwight came closer to her, but not close enough to touch. “I would have thought you’d have no more need of hoping, now,” he said gently. She turned her head to look at him, and Dwight understood her without needing to hear a word. “Ah,” he exhaled. “I see. I would ask, but I think, until they arrive…” He trailed off, and shrugged one shoulder. Caroline almost smiled as a swell of fondness rose within her. She knew he was as aroused as she was, but he could never say so in so many words. He was not talkative during their sexual encounters, losing his eloquence as he lost himself in passion. Caroline made up for that. She had long since found great pleasure in the freedom she had, during lovemaking, to speak whatever was in her mind, and Dwight was always eager and responsive when she did so.

 

She wondered what Demelza and Ross would be like. Soon she would know. She thought Ross would talk, as she did, and more than that – she had long thought Ross would be as commanding in bed as he was elsewhere, and the thought, as it always did, made her tremble a little. Caroline tried to imagine how Dwight would respond to it, remembered how the two men had kissed downstairs in the library, and then she turned her cheek back to the window pane and wished that time might somehow speed up.

 

“Come, Caroline,” Dwight said eventually. “Come and undress.” It was softly-spoken, not quite suggestion nor yet an instruction, but Caroline took it as the latter, and pulled herself reluctantly away from the cool glass of the window. She closed it, mindful of how sounds might carry later on, and pulled the curtains across. With the window closed, the room was warm, but not overbearingly so. She pulled the last few pins from her hair and dropped them into a little heap on the dressing table.

 

“Are you quite sure, Dwight?” she asked. She began to unfasten the buttons of her bodice, mostly as an excuse to avoid looking at him. The silence, and the space to think, had made doubts creep back into her mind. If Ross and Demelza had been with them, if they were all together and _doing_ things, the doubts would have stayed away, but she had little to combat them with at present, and she found that she needed Dwight’s wholehearted reassurance, here on the very edge of the precipice. “I should hate to think that I have bullied you into this,” she added. She attempted to inject levity into her voice, but it fell flat. Dwight sighed. Caroline risked a glance up. He had already partially undressed; his waistcoat had been discarded, and his untied necktie, and his braces hung down by his thighs. He had no boot jack, she realised. He would need help with his boots.

 

“My dearest,” he murmured. “Are you not convinced, by now, that I’m here of my own accord?” She looked away, lips pressed tightly together to keep back a sudden, unexpected urge to weep. “You haven’t bullied me, Caroline,” Dwight said, more firmly now. “You have convinced and persuaded, but not bullied. I promise you that.” Caroline took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Dwight sounded certain, and he didn’t make promises lightly. She very much wanted to believe him. “Dearest, look at me,” he said. She obeyed. “I may not have had as long to think it over as you,” Dwight said, “but believe me, I do share your feelings.”

 

Caroline stared at him for a moment longer, and then she smiled, for his expression was so open and sincere that it pushed away all her doubts.

 

“Very well, Dwight,” she agreed. “I am convinced. Shall I help you with your boots?”

 

The clock in the library had chimed quarter to eleven before Demelza and Ross left their bedroom. Ross had been delayed downstairs, for both Jane and John Gimlett had still been waiting in the kitchen in case they were needed, and because both servants had been awake, he had cautioned Demelza to patience, advising that they allowed an extra ten or fifteen minutes to be absolutely certain that the Gimletts were out of the way and asleep before risking the short journey between bedrooms. Demelza had agreed, for though she was eager to continue the evening, she was not blind to the risks involved.

 

The wait was interminable. Demelza had undressed and sponged away the day’s sweat before donning her nightdress – a good nightdress, one without darns or mends in it – but that had taken barely ten minutes, and was achieved before Ross even reached the bedroom. Then she tried to apply herself to some mending, but her hand shook too much, and she could not concentrate. Ross undressed, bathed as she had, put on his nightshirt, and then seemed perfectly content to settle himself on the bed to read a letter from one of his London acquaintances. Only a slight restlessness in his mouth and hands betrayed that he, too, was impatient of the way time seemed to tick far too slowly. Demelza drifted from the bed to the window and back, and at length she sat on the floor beside the bed, close to Ross. His hand came to stroke her hair, but he said nothing, and nor did she. It could have been an absent movement, but they both knew it was not.

 

At last Ross folded his letter, at last he cleared his throat. “Long enough, I should think,” he said. “Are you ready?”

 

“If you are,” Demelza agreed. Ross shrugged one shoulder, one eyebrow lifted and his mouth twisted into a sardonic look. She reached out and clasped his hand in hers. “Ross,” she said softly. “Only if you are ready.”

 

Ross bent over and pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I love you.” The sentiment, so rarely expressed in words though always present in deeds, gave Demelza the reassurance she sought. She rose and went to blow out the candles. They did not need a light to walk the few paces from their bedroom to the spare room, and it would be better to go in darkness anyway, lest anyone should still be awake. Then Ross took her hand again and led her to the bedroom door, and into the dark hallway beyond. He didn’t knock on the door, when they reached the bedroom that housed Dwight and Caroline, perhaps mindful of making noise. He opened the door without a pause, and ushered Demelza through.

 

For a moment she seemed only able to see a blur of white shirts and yellow candlelight and sheets pulled back on the bed, but the sound of the door closing behind her made her focus. Dwight was perched on the end of the bed, bent forward with his elbows on his knees, and he was stripped down to just his shirt and breeches. Demelza was struck with the thought that she had never seen his bare feet before. Caroline stood by the window, holding the curtain aside, her hair tumbled down her back and her shift falling off one shoulder to reveal a creamy expanse of skin that Demelza longed to taste.

 

Ross locked the door. Demelza tried to remember how to breathe. Caroline let the curtain fall back across the window.

 

“I thought perhaps you’d lost your way,” she said. In another tone of voice it might have been a tease, but there was a caustic note to Caroline’s voice now. If Demelza had not known better, she might have taken it for offence, but she did know better. Caroline was anxious, she had perhaps thought that Demelza or Ross had changed their mind, and so she was putting on an air of challenge, in case hurt was still to come to her. Demelza would not, could not, allow that anxiety to continue – but in fact Ross spoke first, before Demelza could do more than open her mouth.

 

“We’re here, Caroline,” he said, quite gently. “Both the Gimletts were awake still. I wanted to be certain we would be unnoticed.” His hand came to rest at the small of Demelza’s back, a warm weight that nevertheless made her shiver. Three-quarters of an hour had abated her arousal somewhat, but the familiar coiling heat was still there, a fizzing in her stomach and loins that was easily awoken again. The smallest things seemed to attract Demelza’s attention and revive her need: the touch of Ross’s hand to her back; the sight of Caroline in her shift, the linen close-fitted enough to reveal the curves of her breasts and her hips; the sweat that gleamed in the hollow of Dwight’s throat. Demelza wanted to kneel down beside Dwight and lick away the sweat, to find out what he tasted like. The impulse almost turned from thought to action, but she held herself back at the last moment.

 

“Now that we _are_ here,” Dwight broke into her thoughts, “how do we…proceed?” He straightened as he spoke, a stiffness entering his spine, as if he was bracing himself for something. He and Caroline and Demelza were all as anxious as each other, Demelza realised. Only Ross seemed able to maintain his composure, whatever he felt hidden beneath a confident exterior that even Demelza could not penetrate just at present.

 

Still, even he was not confident enough to give Dwight an answer. “I’m not sure,” he said, and he used his hand on her back to urge Demelza to take a few steps towards the bed. Demelza saw Dwight looking at her, his gaze somewhat lower than her face, and it made her skin prickle with awareness. The soft linen of her nightdress whispered against her legs and rubbed a gentle friction against her nipples. Ross’s thumb rubbed against her back, and she knew that he saw how she felt. Briefly she worried that Ross’s jealous impulses would overwhelm him. Then he crowded close to her, and she felt his cock, half-hard, pressing against her buttock. Jealousy was clearly not at the forefront of Ross’s mind. He cleared his throat, and spoke again. “I’m not sure,” he repeated. “But I imagine a repeat of what happened downstairs would not be taken amiss by any of us.”

 

“May I make a suggestion?” Caroline murmured, stepping away from the window. “I have been thinking, and I think – I thought that perhaps we might all feel more comfortable if we focus on the one person to whom we all know we are attracted. Then there would be no…confusions, or doubts.”

 

“Yes,” Dwight agreed. He rose to his feet and turned an eager face to Ross. “It is an idea, at least,” he said. He seemed to be hoping for some sign from Ross, some acknowledgement, but when Ross remained silent, Dwight did not give up. “At least for this first time, perhaps?” he suggested. “If we are all agreeable?”

 

“Yes,” Demelza nodded. Her mouth was dry at the idea of it. “Yes, I think Caroline is right, it might be more…comfortable.” Dwight knew Caroline’s body already, of course. He knew what to do to her to create reactions, knew where to kiss and suck to give Caroline the greatest pleasure. Ross wouldn’t know, but he had made love to women – to Demelza – and in that respect, Demelza supposed that one woman was like enough to another for Ross to be able to please Caroline easy enough. But for Demelza – for Demelza, it was an unknown proposition. She knew the touches of her own body that brought her pleasure, could imagine that many of the same things must be pleasurable for any woman and thus for Caroline also…but Demelza had never tried those things on another woman. She had never kissed another woman’s breasts, suckled at her nipples, cupped handfuls of a woman’s flesh in her hands. She had never touched another woman’s quim, never felt another woman’s slickness under her fingers, nor tasted it with her tongue.

 

Demelza pressed her thighs together and felt dampness. Yes, the thought of lavishing Caroline with attention was an exciting one.

 

“Oh, my dear,” said Caroline, laughter back in her voice now, her head tilted to one side a little, a coquettish smile playing about her mouth. “You think I meant me?” Demelza’s mouth fell open, and she turned to look up at Ross, expecting to see in him surprise to match her own. But instead he was beginning to smile, a slow, creeping thing that betrayed deep amusement. “No, no,” Caroline laughed. “I meant you, of course, my sweet.”

 

Demelza pressed a hand against her stomach, aware of the way all three of them were now watching her, focused on her, so that her every movement must be noticed. Her nipples were peaked beneath her nightdress, the linen not thick enough to conceal it. Her skin prickled.

 

“Me,” she said faintly. “Me?”

 

“Well, I’ve known of my attraction to women, generally, and you in particular, for much longer than you have,” Caroline pointed out. “And this way Ross and Dwight will have a chance to…to probe into their interest for each other without being…how shall I put it? Too strained by being entirely focused on each other.” She hesitated, and then took another step closer. Now all Demelza would have to do was reach out and touch her, but it didn’t seem the right moment, so Demelza refrained. “Do you see?” Caroline asked. “Do you see how it might help us all?”

 

“Yes,” Dwight whispered.

 

“Yes,” said Ross. “Yes, that…” He cleared his throat, stepped away from Demelza and went towards the bed, resting a hand on the bedpost and leaning against it a little, as if he needed the support. “That might work.”

 

“I don’t – I don’t know -,” Demelza stammered. “It doesn’t seem quite fair, somehow.”

 

“If none of us object, why should you?” asked Caroline. Demelza’s eyes were wide, her breathing rapid, her lips parted slightly, all signs that told Caroline that Demelza was not opposed to her suggestion, whatever she might say. Dwight, standing at the foot of the bed, was restless, shifting his weight a little, his normally-steady hands twitching as if he would like to be holding something, doing something. His breeches were not enough to conceal the line of his cock beneath the fabric. And Ross – Ross’s eyes were dark, even in this dim light, hooded and intent and, like Dwight, his clothing, what little of it there was, did not hide his interest. Nobody was objecting, nobody but Demelza seemed to think the situation was unfair in any way, and Caroline suspected that Demelza’s qualms would disappear quickly once somebody moved, once something _happened_. So Caroline moved; she made something happen. She closed the space between them, took Demelza’s face gently in her hands, and kissed her.

 

At first Demelza was unresponsive. Taken by surprise, rather than reluctant, and her surprise seemed to ebb quickly. Her mouth opened to Caroline, a sigh rippled through her as Caroline teased with her tongue, and then Demelza put a hand on Caroline’s shoulder and another at her waist, pressing closer to Caroline, responding so beautifully, so warmly. Caroline could feel Demelza’s breasts pressed up against her own, the curves so much softer and more accessible now that Demelza wore only a nightdress. The realisation hit Caroline that she could touch, now – she could touch Demelza’s breasts, there was nothing to stop her. On the contrary, in fact: she was fairly certain that the men would _encourage_ her to touch. So Caroline let her right hand drift down from Demelza’s face, fingers gently tracing a path down Demelza’s throat, over the neck of her nightdress and then – _oh_ , then Caroline cupped Demelza’s breast in her hand, and it was perfect, it was so much better than Caroline had ever imagined. She made a sound into Demelza’s mouth, a needy whimper. One of the men groaned. Caroline brushed her thumb across Demelza’s peaked nipple, and Demelza gave a cry of her own, muffled by Caroline’s lips. Caroline broke the kiss and met Demelza’s eyes, and then she repeated the movement, her thumb across Demelza’s nipple. There was cloth between them still, of course, and what Caroline truly wanted was to touch Demelza’s skin with her own, but this was more than enough for now. Demelza shuddered. Caroline did it again.

 

“Did you ever imagine,” Dwight said, in a hushed tone. Caroline didn’t look at him, too enthralled by the wet gleam of Demelza’s lips and the way Demelza was clutching a handful of cloth at Caroline’s hip. If Ross replied, he spoke too quietly to be heard, but perhaps he made a gesture, for Dwight inhaled sharply. Demelza turned her head to glance at him. Caroline found that spot on Demelza’s neck once more, the place that Ross had pointed out as particularly sensitive, and she kissed Demelza there. “You have,” Dwight was marvelling. “You – you’ve imagined this.”

 

“Haven’t you?” Ross countered. “These past few weeks?” His voice came closer, his bare feet silent on the rug, and then Ross was behind Caroline, hot against her back, his half-erect cock pressing against the curve of her buttocks. Caroline moaned against Demelza’s skin, torn between pushing back against Ross or forwards against Demelza. “Like this,” he murmured, his mouth close to her ear, his breath a puff of warm air against her neck. Caroline shivered. “Like this,” Ross said again. He reached around Caroline, so she was almost held by him, and he cupped Demelza’s other breast, unerringly finding the nipple beneath the nightdress. He rolled it lightly between finger and thumb; Demelza seemed to like it, so Caroline followed Ross’s lead and echoed the movement for the breast that she held.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” breathed Demelza. She was still grasping a handful of Caroline’s shift, at Caroline’s waist, but Demelza flung out her other hand now, flailing almost, reaching for Ross. “T’isn’t fair,” she accused them. “I want – I want –,”

 

“I want to touch you,” Caroline said, before Demelza could form her desires into words. “I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.” More than just the past few weeks and months; the flicker of attraction had been there, on Caroline’s part, almost since she had first known Demelza. She had ignored it, of course, and buried it beneath layers of loyal friendship to Demelza and to Ross, but it had been there, and love had grown too, until the flutterings of Caroline’s heart had become too strong to resist. Oh, how she had longed to touch Demelza, to kiss her mouth and her throat and to explore her body – and to hold her close, too, in an embrace without sexual need, such as Caroline could freely share with Dwight or with her daughter. The closeness of loving somebody, of holding that person in one’s arms…it was something she had longed for, at times. Caroline had longed to be close to Demelza, and to Ross, with Dwight by her side and enjoying the same closeness.

 

“Tell me what you want,” said Ross. He spoke softly, but there was iron beneath the softness, and Caroline knew it for a command, rather than a request. She shivered, and sought Demelza’s mouth again, kissing Demelza to delay answering. It was not that she didn’t want to answer, but Caroline felt his cock pressing against her and felt Demelza arching up into her hand, and in the midst of that, Caroline could not quickly or easily pluck out a single fantasy from all the myriad desires that had plagued her for so long. “Dwight,” Ross added, a little louder, “you are surely not content just to watch?”

 

“Oh, I find the view fascinating, I assure you,” was Dwight’s response. Caroline left off kissing Demelza so that she could look for him, and found that Dwight was coming to join them, positioning himself behind Demelza, just as Ross was behind Caroline. Demelza and Caroline were both held, each by the other’s husband, and the positioning sent a heady beat of desire rippling through Caroline. They were all together. They were all here. After a moment’s hesitation, Dwight’s hand came to rest above Caroline’s, on Demelza’s breast. Demelza gasped, and leaned her head back against Dwight’s shoulder. Dwight took the opportunity to kiss her, and Ross kissed Caroline’s neck, licking and nipping and lavishing affection until Caroline’s knees were quite weak.

 

“Tell me,” Ross urged her again when he parted from her, his breathing as ragged as hers. “Tell me what you’ve wanted.” He was still holding Demelza’s breast, toying with her nipple through her nightdress, but now he touched Caroline, too, his other hand lifting to cover her breast. The warmth and suddenness of it made Caroline gasp. Dwight was nuzzling into Demelza’s neck now, and he glanced across at Caroline, clearly aroused, clearly waiting, just as Ross was, for Caroline to speak.

 

“I want to taste her,” Caroline managed to say. Ross massaged her breast, found her nipple and rolled it the way he’d done to Demelza. It sent sparks straight to Caroline’s quim; she pressed her thighs together, and Ross chuckled and did it again.

 

“He likes that,” Demelza gasped out. “He likes my br-breasts – _Judas_!” Something had happened, somebody had done something, but Caroline couldn’t see what. She reached out, blindly, in search of somebody to touch. One hand still on Demelza’s breast, the other found Dwight’s arm, and she clutched at the sleeve of his shirt. They were all wearing too many clothes, Dwight especially, and yet Caroline suspected that if they were all naked, the awkwardness would return. For now she must be patient, and enjoy what she had: no hardship, not when Ross thrust his hips a little, letting her feel the size of him, the hardness.

 

“Tell me what you want to taste,” Ross insisted, mouthing at her neck again, lips and stubble brushing over the sensitive skin, and Caroline arched her neck, shivered. Demelza put two fingers at Caroline’s lips, tracing them with her fingertips. Caroline opened her mouth and suckled at the fingers, the way she wanted to suckle at Demelza’s breast and at her quim. _Oh_ , how Caroline wanted that. And that was the answer Ross wanted, too; that was obvious. Caroline let Demelza’s fingers go. Demelza’s eyes glinted in the candlelight, and then she put her fingers to her own mouth, her tongue flicking out as if she wanted to see what Caroline tasted like, too.

 

“I want to taste her breasts,” Caroline gasped, “and her skin, and her – her –,” She could barely say it. She had said the word before, she had uttered it in bed with Dwight; she had even, recently, coupled the word with Demelza’s name, on those nights when she had fed fantasies to Dwight and urged him to consider what could be. But it was different, saying such things only to Dwight, who had learned not to be scandalised by Caroline’s tongue. Now she was not alone with Dwight. Now Demelza was standing before her, pressed against her, looking at Caroline as if she knew exactly what Caroline wanted to say, her lips wet and her eyes dark and her breast heaving beneath Caroline’s hand. And Ross was here too, he was even closer behind Caroline than Demelza was in front, and he was chuckling softly, warm huffs of air against her skin. It was a goad and a challenge, and Caroline refused to back down from it. “I want to taste her quim,” she whispered.

                    

Ross smiled against Caroline’s throat, and tweaked Demelza’s nipple again. That Demelza was pleased by Caroline’s suggestion was obvious, at least to Ross. Her eyes had become unfocused, her mouth slack, a shudder rippling through her body. Ross liked the idea, too. The thought of seeing them like that – of observing Demelza in that position from another perspective, perhaps from above, perhaps she might lie on the bed with her head in his lap, Ross holding her wrists so she could not reach for anyone, Caroline’s head between Demelza’s thighs. And Dwight – Dwight must be there too, though it came less easily to Ross, to imagine Dwight with them. Not because of jealousy, which no longer had any place here, but because Ross was so unused to thinking of another man’s presence, in his private fancies and desires. Then it came to him, like a punch to the gut. Dwight could be behind Caroline, _in_ Caroline, taking her while Caroline lapped at Demelza’s quim, the pace of his thrusts setting Caroline’s pace. A linked chain formed of bodies and of love.

 

Ross lifted his hand from Demelza’s breast, reached out and cupped Dwight’s cheek. Dwight met his eyes, startled and curious, but whatever he saw seemed to answer his curiosity, and when Ross exerted the gentlest of pressure on his cheek, Dwight willingly leaned forwards and let Ross kiss him. It was so new, kissing Dwight, that every embrace seemed to provide new sensations for Ross, a new understanding of Dwight and of his own feelings. Spurred on by his fantasy, Ross delved into Dwight’s mouth, fierce and half-frantic, forgetting – at least for the moment – that he had ever been concerned about how this might work, between the two of them.

 

They were crushing the women between them, now, but neither Demelza nor Caroline seemed to mind. They were kissing too, Demelza making soft moans whenever Caroline let her breathe for a moment. A hand crept onto Ross’s hip – he didn’t know whose – and then Demelza broke away from Caroline’s mouth and tried to kiss Ross, all wet lips and tongue and teasing determination, until Dwight was gone and Ross was kissing her, his beloved Demelza, so familiar and yet, in this time and place, made utterly strange by the edge of unreality that surrounded them. Caroline arched back into him, rubbing herself against his cock, and Ross groaned against Demelza’s mouth and couldn’t help an answering thrust of his hips.

 

“I want to,” Caroline whispered, almost whining, “I want to, please, let me – _please_ –,” Ross pinched at her nipple, as much as he could with his hand trapped between her breast and Demelza’s, and Caroline whimpered, pushing backward against him, turning her face to Dwight for a kiss from him.

 

“Do you want that, sweetheart?” Ross murmured to Demelza. “D’you want to come from Caroline’s mouth on you?”

 

“Judas, yes,” breathed Demelza. He could feel the way her body twitched, could feel it from the way Caroline moved, like a ripple on a pond, echoing outwards from the centre. And Dwight, too, was affected; no need to ask if he wanted to see the women like that, to partake in it, for Ross could see, could _feel_ , the push of Dwight’s hips into Demelza’s buttocks. He must be as hard as Ross, as enflamed as all of them. Ross still wondered, with the distant part of his mind that was still thinking, how he and Dwight would feel, how they would react, when faced with the prospect of touching each other – of seeing and feeling each other’s hard cocks. But it was a fleeting, momentary worry, erased by the need to focus on these two women, held between he and Dwight, both of them seemingly desperate to touch and be touched.

 

Somehow they managed to move towards the bed without any considerable disentanglement of limbs. At one point Caroline stumbled, and Ross caught hold of her to keep her upright. Then his hands slipped to her breasts and _oh_ , what a wonderful feeling that was. Her breasts were smaller than Demelza’s, and his hands covered them, but they were ample enough. Ross imagined what they would look like, the creamy pallor of Caroline’s skin and the rosy pink of her nipples, and the sounds she might make when he suckled at them. Or perhaps she wasn’t like Demelza in that regard; perhaps Caroline gained less sensation from her breasts, and more from other places. He would know, soon enough. Demelza tugged at his sleeve, insistent, and then she ducked her head and nudged away his hand. Her mouth fastened onto Caroline’s nipple, through the thin shift, and Caroline mewled, her knees buckling a little so that Ross had to hold her up again. Dwight muttered a curse. The back of the bed hit Ross’s legs, and he almost fell back onto it, overbalanced by Caroline’s weight, and Demelza and Dwight beyond her. Somehow Demelza landed beside him, and Ross rolled over, kissed her, reached for the hem of her nightgown and tried to tug it up her legs.

 

But Demelza stopped him, squirming away and sitting up on the bed. Her mouth was swollen, her face flushed. She was clearly enjoying what had happened, what was happening, but something, now, was making her pause. Dwight saw it, and paused in the act of kneeling on the end of the bed. Caroline did not; from Demelza’s other side she tried to tug Dwight down onto the bed, though Ross wasn’t entirely sure that they would all four fit into the bed, in that manner. But Dwight resisted his wife, and after a moment Caroline too seemed to sense that something had changed within Demelza.

 

“I can’t,” Demelza said, indecisive and agonised. “I can’t – not just –,” She gave Ross a pleading look, her eyes wide and unhappy. Caroline inhaled sharply, but Ross was certain that she had misunderstood. He was sure that Demelza did not mean that she could not continue – he knew she was clear enough in her own mind and her heart that she would not turn back now. She meant something else. Ross’s mind flew wildly, trying to think what it could be, and then he realised. Demelza had stopped him when he had tried to lift her nightgown. Of course. She was comfortable enough being naked with him, in candlelight, but to be the only one without clothes in this strange, new situation…

 

Ross was not without reservation himself. He had been naked in front of Dwight before, as Dwight had with him, but always for some necessary purpose, usually medical, and thus clinical and detached. This was anything but detached, and Dwight was as far from clinical as Ross had ever seen him, his hair tousled and hand shaking and mouth wet from kisses. But though Ross had helped Caroline to brush aside Demelza’s qualms over the unfairness of being their focus during this first time, he could not so easily ignore this one.

 

So Ross sat up too, and pulled his nightshirt up and over his head. “There,” he said. “Better?” Naked as the day he was born, though not quite as shameless, he dropped the nightshirt onto the floor beside the bed. Caroline’s breath hitched, a soft sound caught in her throat. When he glanced at her, she looked as if her physical desires were close to overwhelming her, a hand pressed to her stomach and her mouth wide and her gaze seemingly unable to rest at any particular place. He was not a vain man, or did not consider himself to be, but even so he had to admit a measure of gratification at that – and more than gratification. Being looked at so openly, so hungrily, made lust course through his veins, centring on his cock.

 

“Ross,” said Demelza, but if it was an admonishment, it was spoken too fondly to be effective. Ross lifted an eyebrow at her, and then couldn’t help looking to Dwight, to see his reaction. Embarrassment, agitation – and something else, something that even now was not easy for Ross to see. He cleared his throat, looked back at Demelza, reminded himself that the focus was to be on her precisely because of this uncomfortable tension between he and Dwight. He touched the hem of Demelza’s nightdress again.

 

“May I?” he asked. Demelza glanced away, at Caroline and Dwight, and then Caroline laughed suddenly and wriggled closer to Demelza.

 

“Won’t you let me,” she coaxed. “Please, Demelza?” Her hand landed on Demelza’s slender ankle, and then slid upwards, beneath the hem of Demelza’s nightdress and up, under the cloth, pulling the nightdress up almost as an afterthought, the intent clearly to touch Demelza rather than to strip her. Ross was mesmerised by it, Caroline’s hand creeping up Demelza’s leg, the white nightdress lifting, Demelza’s gasping breaths and the way she leaned back on her elbows, as if she could no longer stay sitting upright. It was strange how the legs that Ross knew so well seemed to become something wholly new under Caroline’s hands. The scar on Demelza’s knee, the curve of her calf, the pale silvery marks of childbearing on her inner thighs – he might almost be discovering them anew, as Caroline smoothed her hands over Demelza’s skin and pushed aside her nightdress until Demelza was bared from the waist down.

 

Dwight was similarly mesmerised. He had seen these parts of Demelza before, of course, for he’d brought her through childbirth twice. But he’d brought Caroline through two childbirths too, and so he was well acquainted with the difference between undertaking his profession, and viewing a woman as his lover. The first, as a doctor, meant seeing a woman in her most vulnerable moments, her legs parted and sex distorted to fulfil a woman’s most natural function. The second was entirely different, seeing a woman’s quim wet with desire, her legs parted not to aid a child into the world but to welcome a man’s touch – or a woman’s. So though he’d seen Demelza’s long legs, though he’d seen her sex, Dwight knew that was no preparation at all for the current situation.

 

And so it proved; as the nightdress inched up Demelza’s legs, he could not look away. These were not the legs of a patient, but of a woman who he was allowed to admired, _encouraged_ to admire. Not as beloved as Caroline, for no woman could be, but nonetheless precious to him in her own, unique way. Then the nightdress was at Demelza’s waist, and a little higher, folds of fabric bunched up beneath her breasts, keeping those covered but revealing her navel, the taut muscles of her stomach – so slender, still, despite four children and the natural processes of aging. Below that, a crop of ruddy curls, the same colour as the hair on her head, covering the mound of her sex. A glimmering of dampness in the pubic hair. Dwight fought the impulse to reach out and touch; this was Caroline’s, for the moment. And besides, Dwight didn’t want to jeopardise anything. He had kissed Demelza, touched her breasts, but anything more must, he felt, be under Ross’s direction, or else they risked Ross’s jealousy.

 

Demelza was blushing. Ross shuffled up the bed, stroked her hair, ducked his head to murmur something into her ear. Whatever he said, it seemed to ease her a little. Then he spoke more audibly, suggesting she too should move up the bed. Demelza wriggled upwards so that her head was closer to the pillow, leaving more space at the foot of the bed. The move pulled her nightdress down a little. Ross, in a matter-of-fact way that belied the wildness in his eyes, tweaked at the cloth so that Demelza was once again exposed from navel to toes. Dwight swallowed, and could not look away from her. Not just her exposed sex, not just the smoothness of her skin, but the anticipation written onto her face, a naked need that was reflected in Caroline’s expression.

 

“Caroline,” Ross said then, softly. “You wanted to taste.”

 

“Yes,” Caroline breathed. “Oh, _yes_.” She readjusted herself on the bed; a hand on each of Demelza’s knees, she slowly pushed them apart, creating a space for herself to kneel between Demelza’s legs. Dwight gripped onto the bedpost, needing it to keep himself from touching, to keep himself upright. As Demelza’s legs parted, so too did the outer lips of her quim, revealing the pinkness, the _wetness_ of her sex. Caroline’s breathing was audibly ragged, and Dwight reached out to her – safe to do so, nobody could object – and stroked a finger across her jaw and down her throat. She glanced sidelong at him, pausing a moment as if in hesitation, but then she looked away, towards Demelza. “I want to taste you,” she said, quite frankly. “May I, please?”

 

“Please,” Demelza whispered, echoing Caroline, repeating the plea back at her. Caroline smoothed her hands up Demelza’s legs, across the creamy thighs, and then – and then –

 

Then Caroline lowered her head, and gave a breathy moan, and though Dwight could not see clearly what was happening, what little he could see made it clear that Caroline’s mouth had made contact with Demelza’s quim. Demelza’s hips lifted off the bed, her hand flailed out widely – Ross caught it, kissed her palm, and then he glanced at Dwight and nodded his head at the space on the bed, on the other side of Demelza.

 

“Dwight, come up here,” he said. “Help me.”

 

“H-help you?” Demelza gasped. “How – _ohh_ , yes, there, Caroline – that – yes –,” She became incoherent, and Ross chuckled darkly and reached down to kiss her. Dwight was quite sure he would never become tired of watching Ross kiss Demelza, or even Caroline – he was in fact quite sure, now, that he would never become tired of being a recipient of those kisses. Ross was as forthright in kissing as he was in most activities of life, and more than that, he _demanded_ , when he kissed someone. He gave pleasure, but he demanded submission, he demanded openness, he demanded an active response.

 

Dwight was as unyielding as Ross, in many areas of his life. But now, in these circumstances…now Dwight wanted to yield. So he obeyed Ross. He went around the bed and knelt at Demelza’s side – Ross at her other side, Caroline between her legs, no doubt exploring and testing and learning, and certainly making Demelza squirm and pant and push her pelvis up into Caroline’s face. Ross drew the nightdress up, above Demelza’s breasts, and almost without conscious thought, Dwight’s hand landed upon one of them. A perfect handful of flesh, the nipple a hardened peak against his palm. Demelza’s gaze flew to him, her eyes wide, and the action of breathing pushed her breast a little more firmly into his clasp. Her nipple dragged against his skin, almost a tickle; for Demelza, clearly an agreeable sensation, for she moaned and pressed her own hand atop Dwight’s, as if instructing him to give her further friction.

 

“Like this,” Ross murmured. Then, as he had done for Caroline earlier, he showed Dwight how Demelza liked to be touched. Ross tweaked her nipple, rolled it between thumb and forefinger, pinched it and then soothed the pinch, ducked his head and licked across the swollen bud of flesh, and Dwight followed his example at Demelza’s other breast, touching her with fingers and tongue, suckling at her nipple. The sounds Demelza made were intoxicating, and the sight and feel of her writhing beneath the attention of the three of them made Dwight long for more. His cock was throbbing, his breeches too confining. He wanted to take them off, but he supposed he lacked Ross’s courage – and besides, he was too busy, too intent on touching Demelza, on helping to bring her to a peak, to bother about his clothes. Ross’s face was so close to his own, their heads grazing against each other. Dwight left Demelza’s breast briefly and chased Ross’s mouth, as desperate for Ross’s kisses as he was to touch Demelza. Ross granted him the kiss he wanted, fierce and impassioned, tongues duelling together, and then nipping at his lower lip, his jaw, his stubble grating against Dwight’s and making Dwight’s skin sing. Demelza was mewling, Caroline was making little breathless sounds in her throat, and Dwight could _hear_ their joining, he could hear the way Caroline was licking and sucking at Demelza’s quim, at her clit and at the entrance to her core. It made Dwight groan. He managed to put his hand to his cock, through his breeches, and pressed down, stroked himself as best he could through the cloth. It wasn’t enough, but Dwight had no real intention of bringing himself to climax now – for he was not as young as he once was, and if he peaked now, he would be of little use for some time.

 

Ross ended the kiss, suckled at Demelza’s breast for a few moments, and then he put a hand down, beside Caroline’s mouth, below it – Dwight couldn’t see, but by the way Demelza’s head slammed back, her mouth open in a silent moan, he could guess that Ross had penetrated her with his fingers, while Caroline kept up her work at Demelza’s clit. Dwight mouthed at her nipple, desperate suddenly to see her come apart. It took only a few moments more. Demelza arched up, hands grasping at the bed, a cry torn from her throat, her whole body spasming. Dwight released her breast and rested his hand lightly on her stomach, watching in awe as Demelza shattered. Ross and Caroline nursed her through it until she was limp again, her eyes half-shuttered, her panting breaths slowing. Then Ross brought his hand back up, and with a queer expression, he offered Dwight his wet fingers. Dwight’s breath caught in his throat. He felt briefly as if he did not inhabit his own body, as if he was somewhere above the bed looking down, and then lust brought him firmly back. His cock was aching, desperate for another’s touch – a hand wrapped around it, a mouth, the warm tightness of Caroline’s quim, it didn’t matter what it was so long as it _happened_. Ross was still staring at him, hand outstretched. Dwight opened his mouth and accepted the two wet fingers, sucking and licking and tasting Demelza on Ross’s skin. Somebody whimpered. Perhaps Caroline. Dwight kept looking at Ross, holding his gaze until Ross glanced away, down, at his own fingers in Dwight’s mouth.

 

“Judas God,” Demelza whispered, the first words spoken in some minutes. “Judas…Ross…” Ross’s fingers fell from Dwight’s mouth as Ross ducked his head to kiss her. Dwight felt – unaccountably, given what had just happened – that he was witnessing something he ought not. So he followed Ross’s lead, and reached for his own wife. Caroline was sprawled across Demelza’s leg, her face upturned towards his in eager anticipation as Dwight closed the gap between them. Her mouth was wet, her nose, her cheeks – he lapped at the slickness, kissed it away from her. The unfamiliar taste of Demelza on the familiar contours of Caroline’s face. Caroline laughed breathlessly under his ministrations. Then Demelza murmured Dwight’s name, her fingers brushing against his head, and Dwight returned to her, kissed her with only a moment’s hesitation.

 

Demelza did not quite know why she had called him back to her, unless perhaps it was because, of all of them, Dwight still seemed the most withdrawn, the most uncertain. Not uncertain in his participation, or in his feelings – at least, Demelza thought not – but uncertain as to what was permissible, wary of making Ross jealous when Ross had at last overcome his personal demons and consented to this. And perhaps, too, it was because Demelza felt a particular tenderness for Dwight, who had come to Cornwall seeming so young, all those many years ago, and who had been more bruised and battered by life than ought to have been his fair share. No one, for her, was comparable to Ross, and Demelza’s romantic feelings were possibly stronger for Caroline than for Dwight, at least so far – and yet it was Dwight that she reached for, and when Dwight came to her, she kissed him fondly, without any hurried urgency. He did not seek more, though she could feel his cock, hard against her thigh beneath his breeches, and though her own need had only been abated, not wholly satisfied. It was a kiss more of reassurance than of passion.

 

Then Ross tweaked Demelza’s nipple between his fingers again, and Demelza had to stop kissing Dwight, gasping a plaintive cry at the feeling that rippled through her body. She had peaked once; once was not enough. Not this night. Not with Ross beside her, and Dwight, and Caroline still kneeling between her legs, her hands still on Demelza’s thighs. Caroline’s fingers traced circles on her skin, but after a moment Caroline leaned forwards, her long hair brushing across Demelza’s stomach and hips. She put a hand to the bed, either side of Demelza’s shoulders, and lowered her mouth to Demelza’s breast. Demelza moaned, and shuddered, and reached for Caroline to keep her in place.

 

“Was it everything you wanted, Caroline?” Ross asked. His voice was low, and rough. Demelza glanced at him and found his cock just as hard as Dwight’s, and within her grasp. She reached out and stroked him, one long stroke from root to tip. He groaned, captured her hand with his, but instead of keeping her at his cock, he batted her away. “Not that way, sweetheart,” he insisted. “I have other ideas.”

 

“Tell us,” Demelza said, and reached for Dwight with her other hand, sure now that Ross wouldn’t object, and sure, too, that Dwight would need somebody else to reach to him. He would not ask for himself. He still wore his breeches, of course, but it was the work of a moment to unfasten the buttons of his placket and slide her hand inside. She clasped Dwight’s cock, felt the differences between he and Ross, and delighted in the way that Dwight moaned and thrust into her touch. Caroline sucked at her nipple, the spark of it spinning through Demelza’s body and into her throbbing nub, and Demelza rubbed her thumb across the head of Dwight’s cock. “Ross,” she whispered. “I need – I need –,”

 

“Shh, shh,” Ross said, as if to soothe her, though he must know full well that need was coiling low in Demelza’s belly again, he must know that her skin tingled, that her breasts were heavy, and that she ached to have him deep inside her. “We’re not done yet, my love,” he said. “But I want to know if Caroline is satisfied.”

 

“Satisfied,” Caroline laughed, her mouth still pressed against Demelza’s breath, delicious puffs of air against the skin wet from Caroline’s attentions. Demelza turned her head to Dwight, begged him for another kiss without speaking a word. “Satisfied,” Caroline said again, as Dwight obeyed Demelza. “I don’t think that’s quite the word, Ross, darling.” Demelza felt Caroline move away from her breast – heard a moan, a smack of lips together – they were kissing, she thought, and she wanted to look, except Dwight was doing something – _oh_ , Dwight was doing something with his tongue that made her toes curl, made her glad that she was lying down and so need not fear her knees buckling. “I think,” Caroline said, some moments later, “that I shall need to practice again, to – _yes_ , Ross – _oh_!” And now Demelza did tear herself away from Dwight, now she looked to see how Ross had drawn such delightful sounds from Caroline. Caroline’s shift had been tugged up around her waist, and Ross’s hand was between her thighs. Demelza couldn’t see what he was doing but oh, she could imagine it. Fingers stroking across Caroline’s quim – she must be wet, wet as Demelza was – and teasing into her core, perhaps, or his thumb flicking against Caroline’s nub. Demelza made a whining, keening sound, and she tried to press her thighs together, to give herself some respite, but of course Caroline was still there, still perched on the bed between Demelza’s legs, preventing Demelza from moving. But Demelza still had a free hand, and she used it now, sliding two fingers through the wet curls at her mound and into the slippery, soaking folds of her quim. Dwight groaned against her shoulder. She felt his hand skimming down her stomach and abdomen, and then his hand was at her quim too, his fingers stroking across her nub. Nothing more than a tease, butterfly-light. Demelza tried to press herself up into his hand, tried to demand more friction, but she couldn’t speak, couldn’t do more than moan again.

 

Then Ross was touching her, Ross’s hand was at her quim once more. But he did not aid them; instead he knocked away Dwight’s hand, and Demelza’s hand, leaving her bereft, and he chuckled when they both cried out in protest.

 

“We’re not done with you yet, my dear,” Ross said. “But not that way.” Caroline was touching Demelza’s breast again, cupping it in her hand, tweaking the nipple, and Demelza reached to reciprocate. She had not been able to touch anyone enough, this night, and she longed to explore. She wanted to know if suckling at Caroline’s nipple would be more delightful without the shift between them; she wanted to see Dwight’s cock, to feel it properly, to stroke it in her hand; she wanted Ross, _oh_ , how she wanted Ross. She wanted him to thrust into her, to feel the brush of his chest hair against her breasts, she wanted _everything_. She found Caroline’s breast, still covered by her shift, and though Demelza had known that to be so, the sensation – the absence of skin on skin – was still disappointing. She tried to murmur a protest but found her mouth occupied, suddenly, with a fierce kiss from Caroline, almost as fierce as Ross could be, Caroline seemingly enflamed by Demelza cupping her breast. Demelza closed her eyes, the better to savour it all.

  
“Tell us, then,” Dwight said raggedly. “For God’s sake, tell us what to _do_.”

 

For a moment or two, Demelza heard nothing but panting breaths, felt nothing but Caroline’s mouth on hers and Caroline’s nimble fingers on first one hardened nipple and then the other. Then the bed moved beneath her, bodies moved around her, and Demelza opened her eyes and found Ross and Dwight kissing above her – or rather, Ross kissing Dwight, for it was clear who had instigated the kiss, and who was master of it. One of Ross’s hands was at Dwight’s head, tangled in his hair, grasping it in a way that looked almost painful. His jaw moved – from this angle Demelza could not see, but she could imagine how Ross was using his tongue, his lips, to kiss Dwight in the particular way that always made Demelza melt. Of course, of _course_ Dwight had roused such a response in Ross; his words could have produced no other effect. Some of their most passionate encounters, burned into Demelza’s memory, were of nights when she had surrendered all control to Ross. And of course he was master of them all now. It might have been Caroline’s idea, but it was Ross who had had the final word, Ross who was now driving the evening.

 

“Please,” Demelza begged. “Ross – Ross – _oh_!” Caroline had pinched her nipple, and the pain-pleasure of it was perfection. She writhed and pushed her chest up into Caroline’s touch and whined for more. Somehow she managed to slip her hand below the neckline of Caroline’s shift, and _oh_ , the bare skin was so smooth, so soft, and then she was touching Caroline’s breast properly, nothing between them, and Demelza longed to kiss those breasts, to taste them, but the shift was still too much in the way, and anyway Demelza could barely move, her legs held in place by Caroline and Ross and Dwight kissing above her.

 

“Oh, you’re so beautiful, Demelza,” Caroline breathed. “Oh – _oh_ – Ross, _please_ –,” She, too, seemed to understand that Ross had a plan, a goal in mind, and that they were all merely awaiting his word. Ross broke the kiss, bared his teeth in a smile, and nudged Caroline upright again.

 

“Move over,” he told Demelza. Then, when Demelza stared up at him with a kind of hazy confusion, Ross turned to Dwight for assistance. “Help her over,” he said. Somehow Demelza moved, or was moved, and Ross took her place at the centre of the bed. Caroline crawled up the bed to be at his side, where Ross had been just a moment ago. Her hand came to rest on his hip, the other reaching across for Dwight, as if she wanted a connection to them both. Ross covered her hand with his, contemplated moving it a few inches. He refrained. Ever since that night, last week, when he had suggested to Demelza that she imagine Dwight and Caroline suckling at her breasts while he took her, he had not been able to rid himself of the vision. Now he could make it a reality, and he meant to, though he was sure he would find pleasure enough if Caroline did take him in hand.

 

“Here, love,” Ross said to Demelza. “Up.” This time she seemed able to move herself, and she grasped his meaning without further instruction. Her lips parted, her breath coming in pants, she knelt up on the bed and then straddled him. Her quim brushed against his cock – so wet, _god_ , how wet and ready she was – but no more than that. Ross didn’t expect it; he knew she would wait for his word. He glanced at Caroline, whose eyes were flicking from Demelza’s quim to Ross’s cock and then darting up to Dwight. Her hand was still on Ross’s hip, but then she moved it further up, across his abdomen, his chest, fingers combing through his chest hair, then finding a nipple and touching it almost tentatively. Ross covered her hand with his, showed her how he liked to be touched, and Caroline half-choked on a breath. Ross turned from her to Dwight, who seemed, like his wife, to want to look everywhere at once. Ross didn’t know how he felt about it, didn’t know whether the heat in his face was embarrassment or discomfort or the warm pride of knowing himself to be admired, physically, by somebody that he…somebody that he cared for deeply. Ross didn’t know, so he shoved it aside and focused on what he did know. He knew he liked to kiss Dwight, so he lifted himself up on one elbow – the other hand at Demelza’s waist to keep her steady – and kissed Dwight again. Brief and almost chaste, but enough to remind Ross that there was _something_ between them, at the very least.

 

Then he returned his attention to Demelza, who was rocking her hips a little, helpless little stutters of movement, one of her hands fisted in Caroline’s shift as if to keep Caroline close beside her.

 

“I want to see them suckling at your breasts while I have you,” Ross told her. Demelza inhaled, and she met his eyes. She remembered too, he saw. “I don’t care what you do with your hands,” he said, to Caroline and Dwight. “But I want to see your mouths on her.”

 

“Judas God,” Demelza whispered. “Ross –,”

 

“Like this?” Caroline said, sliding ever-closer to Demelza. In so doing, she hitched up her shift again, up above her waist so it would not impede her movement. Ross caught a glimpse of her mound, shadowed between her legs, a trace of moisture on her inner thigh. He wondered how Caroline would taste, what she would sound like if he were to lay her out on the bed, legs spread wide, and lick into her quim. He swallowed. Thoughts he would never have dreamed of entertaining, two months ago. Another time he would try it; perhaps even later tonight. It barely occurred to him that he was thinking, already, of another night of this debauchery with Dwight and Caroline. It was unimportant compared to watching Caroline tenderly, lovingly, take Demelza’s breast in her hand as she lowered her head. It was unimportant compared to the way Demelza looked at Caroline, just as tender as Caroline’s touch, though he knew Demelza was more than half-consumed with desire. And Dwight – his dearest, closest friend Dwight, copying his wife’s lead and dipping his head. Not to suck at Demelza’s nipple, or at least not yet. Instead Dwight’s tongue swiped across the lower curve of Demelza’s breast once, twice, and then licking a trail up, at last, to the nipple. Demelza shuddered, and looked down at Ross again. She said nothing, but he knew what she was thinking, what she was feeling. He nodded. Yes, he tried to convey, he felt it too.

 

“Yes,” he responded to Caroline. “Just like that.” He grasped Demelza’s hips, but she needed no encouragement and little guidance to bring herself down onto him, first the head of his cock and then the whole shaft sliding into the wet heat of her core. They both moaned. Demelza flung her head back, baring her neck. Ross wished he could bite at the mark there, the mark left by his mouth and Dwight’s and Caroline’s all working to bruise the tender flesh. But she was too far away, and he was, in any case, too distracted by the feel of her, seated fully on him, his cock as deep in her as it was possible to be. He was more aroused than he could remember being – the sight of Caroline lapping at Demelza’s quim had been intoxicating, far beyond anything Ross could ever have imagined, and then Dwight at her breast, and Dwight sucking Ross’s fingers into his mouth…Demelza’s hand on his cock, even for that brief moment, had nearly been enough to make Ross spill his seed like an untested youth. It would take little enough, now, to tip him over the edge.

 

Demelza began to rock against him, not lifting herself up and down but making shallow tilts of her hips. She could not manage more, he knew. She was too far gone to have much conscious control of herself. And Ross was sure that she would not want to move much even if she could, for fear of dislodging Dwight and Caroline. They were each at a breast, as Ross had asked, painting Demelza’s skin in shining stripes of saliva, sucking at her peaked nipples, Dwight’s stubble scraping across the underside of her breast. Demelza was making a succession of noises, whines and moans and half-spoken pleas. Her hand – _God_ , her hand was between Caroline’s legs, her fingers fluttering, and Caroline’s hand was there too, as if she was guiding Demelza. Ross grasped Demelza’s hips more firmly and thrust up into her, heat coiling impossibly tight in his veins, centring on his cock. And Dwight – Dwight must not be left out, he must have satisfaction too. This was a distinct thought in Ross’s mind, but not one that he could pursue, both too preoccupied with his own pleasure and too reticent to actively seek Dwight’s.

 

But a glance aside showed that though Dwight was as aroused as the rest of them, he was not waiting for any of them to touch him. His hand was fisted around his cock, stroking up and down, not fast but not leisurely, either; a steady pace, rhythmic almost. Ross was transfixed for a moment, but for a moment only. Then he tore his gaze away, embarrassed or aroused or both but unwilling to push the matter. Ross looked back at Demelza instead, the glorious sight of her above him, almost pinned in place by Ross’s hands at her hips and his cock in her quim and Dwight and Caroline each at a breast. Sweat trickled between Demelza’s breasts, gleaming in the candlelight. Caroline licked it up, and Ross groaned, thrust up into Demelza again, wished he had more hands and could touch them all, touch everywhere he wanted, all at once. He could feel the inner muscles of Demelza’s sex contracting around him; she was nearing another peak, closer and closer, and taking Ross with her.

 

“All of us,” he managed to gasp out. “All of us – wait, Demelza –,”

 

“Oh, please,” she whimpered. “I can’t –,”

 

“Yes, you can,” Caroline said, lifting her head from Demelza’s breast. She looked at Ross, met his eyes. He could not put a precise name to what he saw in her expression. Lust, delight, love, all seemed there but there was something further, too. Unnameable, indefinable. But he didn’t need to name it; it was enough that he saw it. “I’m so close,” Caroline murmured into Demelza’s ear, still watching Ross. Her lips grazed against the shell of Demelza’s ear. Ross groaned and thrust up – Demelza mewled – Dwight was groaning around Demelza’s nipple, his hand beginning to move faster on his cock. “So close,” Caroline said again. “Oh – ohhh, yes, like that – wait – wait for us, my sweet...”

 

“Caroline,” Demelza choked. “ _Judas_ , I have to – Ross –.”

 

Ross perceived that he was pushing her for something she could not give. It was too much for her; Demelza could no longer wait. He glanced swiftly at Dwight, at Caroline, to see how close they were. Close enough. He grasped Demelza’s hips, lifted her a little, pulled her back down onto him.

 

“Come on, then,” he commanded. “Come for us, love.” Demelza gasped and rocked against him. Somebody moaned but Ross couldn’t spare the attention to see who – the world was narrowed down to what he could feel and hear. Demelza’s core, contracting around his cock. Her gasps and moans. A hand on his hip, his chest, nails scratching lightly through his chest hair – short nails, the nails of someone who worked with their hands, _Dwight’s_ nails, Dwight’s hand, Dwight reaching out and being much bolder than Ross could bring himself to be. Another moan, and more, and a high-pitched keening in somebody’s throat. Then a choked cry, one he knew well, as Demelza tipped over the edge. Her whole body seemed to grow taut, legs and arms and torso, and her quim impossible tight around his cock. Caroline, too, following Demelza’s lead, trembling and shaking and crashing into orgasm. Ross glimpsed it, the pleasure on her face, the open mouth and round eyes, and reached his own climax. A moment or two later, Dwight groaned. The warm stickiness of his seed striped across Ross’s hip, his stomach, splashes of it on Demelza’s leg.

 

Caroline collapsed down onto the bed, half on top of Ross, her hand still between her legs, still working at her sex, as if she was intent on milking every last ounce of pleasure from herself. Demelza was near to falling too, her hips stuttering and shuddering with every movement Ross made. Dwight held her up, his arm around her waist, his forehead pressed against her shoulder and his breathing ragged. But then Demelza murmured something to him, and Dwight nodded, helped her rise off Ross’s spent cock, and then laid her gently down on the bed.

 

“There’s room for you, too,” Caroline mumbled. “Dwight…” She could barely open her eyes. She felt wholly overwhelmed by it all – by what she had felt and done and seen. The last ebbs of her climax were still fading away, shivers intermittently running across her body. She rubbed her cheek against Ross’s chest, and felt his hand come to rest on her hip. “Dwight,” she murmured again. Then Ross echoed her, repeating Dwight’s name, and there was enough of an order in his voice to make Dwight acquiesce. The bed dipped slightly, then settled. Caroline forced her eyes open and looked across Ross’s chest, at Demelza, who was lying just like Caroline, her head resting on Ross’s chest, her expression sated and lazy. Demelza caught her gaze, and a slow smile crept across her face. There was no need for Caroline to speak; everything she felt was reflected back at her by Demelza. And behind her, his arm comfortably resting around Demelza’s waist, was Dwight. Caroline could not see his face, but she knew him well enough to know that he, too, was happy. He had reached his own peak – on another occasion, Caroline would ensure he did not have to do so by his own hand – and now he, like the rest of them, seemed content enough to simply be together. Entwined in the bed, too many limbs to really know who was embracing who, heartbeats slowing and sweat cooling on their skins.

 

At length, however, somebody shifted again. “If we don’t wash, we’ll regret it in the morning,” Dwight said softly to them all.

 

Caroline wrinkled her nose, but she couldn’t deny the truth of what he said. She lifted her head, glanced down at Ross, found him staring up at the ceiling with an indecipherable expression. It would be better not to push him, Caroline judged, so she refrained. Instead she took Dwight’s advice, and lifted herself upright. Her shift fell back into place as she got up off the bed, but she couldn’t wash with it on, and at any rate Caroline rather felt that the time for modesty was entirely over. Demelza had been bared, Ross had bared himself – and there was little enough of Caroline that had not been glimpsed by now, and nothing that had not been touched. So she pulled the shift up, over her head, and discarded it carelessly on the floor. She heard Demelza inhale sharply, and Caroline glanced back at the bed’s occupants. Demelza was watching Caroline, eyes wide and lips parted. Ross was watching too, one eyebrow raised sardonically, and Caroline thought she could tell what he was thinking. She smiled, resisting the temptation to smirk, and went to the wash stand, conscious of the eyes fixed upon her back.

 

“Dwight’s right, you know,” she said. “We’ll regret it. Ross, darling, shall I bring a cloth to you, or will you get up?”

 

“If I get up, I’ll disturb Demelza,” Ross remarked dryly, “and she seems quite incapable of movement, so you’d better – _ow_.” Caroline glanced back; Demelza was smirking now, and Ross was rubbing his rib cage. Dwight looked as though he wanted to laugh. Dear Dwight, still in his breeches and shirt, though the breeches would no doubt fall off him as soon as he made any serious attempt at moving unless he acted to hold them up. It had not escaped Caroline’s notice that he and Ross had mostly avoided touching each other, setting aside the passionate kisses they had shared; perhaps, given their reticence, Dwight would prefer to remain clothed. It was enough, for now, that they cleared enjoyed kissing each other. It was enough that they were far from repulsed by what had just taken place. More would be a blessing if it came – and Caroline sincerely hoped it would. She wanted to see – _oh_ , she wanted to see Ross’s mouth on Dwight’s cock, Dwight’s hand wrapped around Ross’s cock, she wanted to see _everything_.

 

“Get up, my dear,” Ross was saying to Demelza. “Let me up.” He gave a gentle slap to her flank, and Demelza made a high-pitched, startled noise that sounded perilously close to an expression of delight. Ross caught Caroline staring, and she shuddered at the promise in his eyes, at the way his gaze raked across her naked body. But she was sated for now, and Demelza seemed barely able to move, and both of the men were spent. Any titillation now must, of necessity, be minimal. After a moment Demelza rolled off Ross, and Ross rose and came to the wash stand. He took a wet cloth back to Demelza, and Caroline busied herself in cleaning her own body, quite certain that if she saw Ross washing Demelza, she would not be so content to let the evening end. Dwight came to join her, and at last discarded his breeches, though he kept his shirt on. They washed together in silence, and after a while Ross came back to the wash stand, leaving Demelza presumably clean. He washed himself, seeming to have no embarrassment about his nakedness. When they were all clean and dry, Ross kissed first Caroline, and then Dwight, with gentle tenderness.

 

“Come to bed,” he said. “We can stay a while, as long as we don’t sleep too long.” Caroline was startled despite herself; she had known, of course, that they could not all sleep together in the same bed, not all night long, but somehow she had forgotten it in all the blissful activity of the past hour or so. She caught Dwight’s sympathetic gaze, and shrugged a shoulder. Not that Caroline could pretend to Dwight, of all people, that she did not care that they could not stay together, but there was no point admitting her disappointment either in words or by her expression. Ross had already gone back to the bed, and Demelza was lying there on her front, her head pillowed on one arm, half-asleep and looking like some artist’s model, with her thick curls tumbling over her shoulders and spread across the pillow. Caroline crossed the room, bent and kissed Demelza’s shoulder, and then paused, and pushed her own hair aside to better see the thing that had caught her attention.

 

“Demelza,” she exclaimed. “Your back – how did you get these scars?” She traced the line of one, the most visible, stretching from Demelza’s shoulder blade to halfway down her back. There were others, too – just faint marks, barely enough to call them scars, but slight imperfections in Demelza’s skin that showed where once the marks had been more vivid. Caroline glanced up at Ross, who had settled on Demelza’s other side; he was shaking his head emphatically, his eyes blazing a warning. But Demelza’s answer was light-hearted, so Caroline didn’t know whether the warning was on behalf of Demelza’s feelings, or Ross’s own.

 

“Oh, they’re old,” Demelza was saying. “They’ve faded mostly, haven’t they? Ross tells me he can scarce see them, these days.”

 

Dwight came up behind Caroline, settled on the bed, and reached out to trace his forefinger across that darkest mark, just as Caroline had. “Strap marks,” he said quietly. “I saw a number of them in the navy.” Caroline looked up at him, appalled – not by his experiences, but by the idea of anybody taking a strap to Demelza – but Dwight shook his head at her as well, as if he too thought she should drop the subject, so Caroline forced herself to silence.

 

“Mm,” Demelza agreed, and then she yawned. “Long time ago,” she mumbled. “Caroline…want you here, please…” She was drifting further into slumber with every heartbeat, it was plain, but Caroline couldn’t help touching her back once more. Ross captured her hand, and shook his head again.

 

“Don’t distress yourself over it,” he murmured. “As she says, it was long ago. She doesn’t mind the last scars, but I…” Ross trailed off with a grimace and a shrug, and Caroline understood what he did not say. She took a deep breath and let it out, and then she kissed his hand and settled down on the bed beside Demelza. Cheek against Demelza’s shoulder, arm draped across her back, so that Caroline would be able to touch Ross, too, when he lay down on Demelza’s other side. Demelza hummed a little, but it was a sleepy sound, more a reflex more than any conscious communication.

 

“I always imagine I know everything there is to know about you both,” Caroline said, keeping her voice low so that she should not bring Demelza back to wakefulness. “No doubt it’s good for me to realise that there is still much to discover.”

 

“No doubt,” Ross agreed. He was smiling, but not at her. Caroline twisted her head to see Dwight, but Demelza gave a discontented murmur, so Caroline put her cheek against Demelza’s shoulder once more. She could imagine Dwight’s expression, though. She could picture him smiling at Ross, Ross’s teasing joke against her shared between them. Not that Caroline was offended, but it didn’t quite do, to let them think they could get away with poking fun at her like that. Ross chuckled, a deep rumbling in his chest, as if her expression gave away her thoughts, and he smoothed two fingers over her frown. “Go to sleep, my dear,” he said. “And forget about Demelza’s scars, hm? It’s in the past. It’s not important.”

 

Ross settled himself onto the bed as Caroline sighed her agreement, and then Dwight crowded close behind Caroline, so that somehow all four of them managed to fit on the bed, more or less comfortably. Demelza, of course, was already asleep, but soon enough the others joined her. First Caroline, then Dwight, who was dimly aware as he dropped off that Ross’s breathing had not evened out into the deep regularity of sleep. But not aware enough to keep Dwight from finally falling asleep himself, pressed up against Caroline’s back and with his hand resting on the curve of Demelza’s back.

 

He woke some time later, jolted wide awake in a second, in the peculiar way that was shared by most doctors he was acquainted with – and most mothers, too. Alert and ready to tackle whatever must be done. He lay still for a moment, listening for any untoward sound – a child crying down the hall, perhaps – but heard nothing. Then a whispering of cloth moving against cloth, and a latch being lifted, and a sudden breath of chilly night air wafting into the room. Dwight raised his head, peered through the darkness to see who it was. Caroline was still sleeping beside him, and Demelza beyond her, but Ross was no longer in the bed. Ross was at the window, a dark shadow against the night sky.

 

Dwight carefully detached himself from Caroline, slid off the edge of the bed, and padded across the floor to stand beside Ross.

 

“What time is it?” he asked in a murmur.

 

“Must be nearly two o’clock,” Ross returned. “I forgot to wind my watch. But it can’t be much later – look, the moon.” Dwight looked obediently out of the window, but something in Ross’s voice made Dwight turn back to him after only a brief look at the position of the moon. It was hard to make out much of Ross’s expression – the moon was waning and the light it gave was enough only to cast a shadow and give an impression of the shape of Ross’s face. The candles had long since burned out. Dwight glanced back at the bed, where he could faintly make out the two women, their heads resting together on the pillow. He remembered what it had been like, watching and feeling and sharing so much love and physical pleasure not only with his wife, but with his two dearest friends. And now Ross was standing here, alone, staring out at the night.

 

“Have you slept, Ross?” Dwight asked. Ross shifted a little, his head jerking in an impatient movement. It might have been a no, but Dwight had no way of telling in this darkness. He considered what he should say next. There was no good way to talk to Ross when he fell into one of his introspective moods, Dwight knew that, and all he could suppose was that Ross was in such a mood now. Perhaps he regretted what had happened. Perhaps he was trying to find some way to tell them so. But Ross had enjoyed it – that much was undeniable. Ross had taken charge of the whole thing. He had demanded that Caroline reveal her desires, and then had enabled them. He had directed Dwight and Caroline and Demelza alike, all three of them gladly doing his bidding in pursuit of their joint pleasure. He had kissed them all with passion and need, fierce and sincere, and Dwight could not imagine that anyone could feign desire like that.

 

And yet there were bridges that had not been crossed. Advances that had not been made. They had kissed, they had begun some limited embraces, but further they had not ventured. Dwight had not dared, unsure of Ross and indeed unsure of his own reactions. He had accepted he desired Ross, but there was a difference between accepting such a desire and actually touching another man with lustful intent. He had entertained fantasies, of course – Caroline had made sure of that – but Dwight had felt it best, for tonight, to accept Caroline’s suggestion and not focus too much on Ross. Not that such a thing was entirely possible, both because of the nature of the entanglement and because Ross himself was always such a dynamic presence that it was impossible to forget him, impossible to be unaware of him. Still, Dwight had tried to focus mostly on Demelza, and on Caroline, and to tuck away any wild urges to reach out and touch Ross in more intimate ways.

 

Ross had had time to think, now. Nearly two hours, Dwight judged, since they had drifted off to sleep. Left alone, to his own thoughts, Ross might very well have come to some decision about whether he felt more _could_ be ventured, or whether it was simply too much to ask.

 

“Ross,” Dwight began, and found that he still had no idea what to say. He licked his lips, shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Ross, do you –,”

 

“It’s a funny thing, is it not?” Ross interrupted him. “Love.” Dwight tried to see him more clearly through the darkness, longed to light a candle but dared not move. He had an instinctive feeling that light would be intrusive, now. If Ross had something to say, Dwight felt, he would not say it in daylight or candlelight. The darkness was a cloak for Ross to wear. “It can creep up on one unawares…did I ever relate to you the circumstances of my marriage, Dwight?”

 

“No,” Dwight said. His voice was thick, but he dared not clear his throat. “No, not that I recall.”  

 

“You know the essentials. She was my maid, I was widely regarded as a fool…” Ross trailed off and was silent for a few minutes. Dwight waited patiently; whatever Ross had to say would not be rushed. A breeze blew through the window, almost too cool against his face and hands and bare feet. “I only came to realise I loved her afterwards,” Ross said at length. “I think I had loved her, really, for some time, but I only knew it later. A dismal start to a marriage, not telling one’s wife that she was loved until some two months after the wedding…I remember the evening perfectly, even now.”

 

He paused again, but the silence was different, and Dwight was able to speak into it. “The start of my own marriage was not so very joyous,” he observed. “The event itself tired me so much I could not…” After all they had done this evening, Dwight knew he should not struggle to speak the words aloud, but it took effort. “We could not consummate the marriage that night,” he managed. “Nor indeed the next night. We married too soon – I told her that at the time, of course, I knew I was not strong enough –,”

 

“She had waited long enough,” Ross said quietly. Dwight nodded. “And at least,” Ross added, “you both knew you loved one another.”

 

“I find it hard to believe Demelza ever thought she lacked your love,” Dwight said. Then he felt his cheeks heat, despite the cool breeze, for he knew – or at least strongly suspected – that there had been a time when Demelza had thought that very thing. “Anyway,” he said hastily, “many marriages are built on shakier foundations than either of ours, so I confess I’m not certain why…”

 

“She did think that, Dwight,” Ross said, as if Dwight had not continued. “And she had reason. For a time…” He shifted a little, and Dwight heard him heave a sigh. “My point is that where Demelza is capable of great emotional perception, I am not always so blessed. Sometimes my greatest happiness may be standing right before me, and I do not see its value.” Silence once more. Dwight’s mouth was dry. He was very aware, suddenly, that he and Ross were standing close together, and that Ross was still naked. Ross moved, turned towards Dwight, and his hand came up and cupped Dwight’s cheek. “Dwight,” he said, very quietly.

 

“Don’t say more than you mean,” Dwight rasped. “This is all – so new, to us both, and I don’t – I couldn’t –,” The words choked him. The terrifying realisation was hitting him that he _loved_ Ross. He loved Ross more deeply than he had thought, and in more ways than he could easily name. He loved Ross as his greatest friend, as a comrade in arms, as a brother, close to him as family. He loved Ross as a lover, loved him as a man, in a way he had never imagined he could love any man. He loved – he _loved_ Ross. Nobody could be dearer to him than Caroline, but _Ross_ …and Demelza too, Demelza asleep in the bed next to Caroline after sharing her warm heart with all of them. Dwight felt the unexpected, unwelcome sting of tears, and closed his eyes against them. “Please, Ross,” he said hoarsely. “Please don’t…”

 

“Dwight,” Ross sighed. He pulled Dwight against him, encouraged him to rest his head on Ross’s shoulder. One arm went around Dwight’s waist, the other hand clasped the back of his neck. Dwight tried to keep his breathing steady, tried to control himself, but the revelation of the sheer depth of his feelings was almost too strong to withstand. Ross murmured something, but Dwight couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t even hold Ross in return, couldn’t reciprocate the embrace. All he could do was stand there, and feel Ross’s arm around him, feel the heat of his body, and smell the faint smell of sweat still lingering on Ross’s skin.

 

After a while Dwight was capable of movement again, and he lifted his head. Ross’s face was close to his, his breath intimately warm against Dwight’s face. This near, despite the darkness, Dwight could see the shape of Ross’s mouth, and his nose, and a faint glint of moonlight in his eyes. Dwight inhaled to speak, but Ross shook his head, so Dwight let the breath out again. He wasn’t sure what he would have said, anyway, and the silence was not one devoid of communication, especially when Ross closed the gap between them and kissed Dwight. It was a tender kiss, so wholly unlike all the kisses they had shared so far. Tender and almost sweet, Ross pressing a series of gentle kisses to Dwight’s lips, but making no attempt to deepen it. So unlike the passion of earlier tonight, but somehow no less intimate. Dwight tried to respond, to kiss Ross back, but Ross withdrew when he did so – not far, but far enough, enough to let Dwight know that Ross was not interested in reciprocity, just at the moment. Dwight could accept that, for the kisses Ross bestowed…they were so _caring_ , each press of lips to lips speaking a language that needed no words to be understood.

 

“Dwight,” Ross murmured eventually. “Dwight…” He had done a great deal of thinking over the past few hours, while the others had been asleep. A great deal of thinking, of introspection, turning his mind on itself and trying to discover if the new truths that had come to light, this evening, had deep enough foundations to be worth trusting. While Demelza, Caroline and Dwight had slumbered in a tangle of limbs, Ross had stood here, at the window, and tried to sort through his own conflicting and contrary impulses.

 

He had come to no firm conclusions before Dwight had woken and come to stand beside him, had found no resolution in himself. But then Dwight had come, and somehow the whole thing had become clear to Ross. Like sighting something through a telescope, and adjusting for a clearer view, Dwight’s quiet, dependable presence at his side had brought everything into focus. Ross loved Demelza, would always love her above any other creature on earth…but he had begun to see what she meant, what Caroline meant, when they said that they wanted more. Not greater happiness, not one that in any way implied a lack of contentment before, but a _different_ kind of happiness. So Ross had found himself speaking of a time when once before he had experienced a similar seismic shift, his mind scrambling to catch up with what his heart had already known. The sudden, startling realisation, some six or eight weeks after his wedding, that he loved his wife. Then, more broadly, his ineptitude when it came to recognising his own feelings, and from that Dwight had understood, he had surely understood, for he’d stammered and stumbled and tried to stop Ross, and when Ross had embraced him, he had felt how Dwight had been shivering, as if terribly afraid. Ross had disliked the idea of that, of Dwight afraid, but he had liked – _oh_ , Ross had liked holding Dwight like that. It had elicited tenderness in him, an urge to reassure Dwight. It was an urge that Ross had not been able to resist, and indeed had not had _reason_ to resist.

 

So he’d kissed Dwight, once Dwight had stopped shaking and had lifted his head. Not passionate kisses, not needy in the way they had been earlier. But needy enough in a different way, for Ross had needed to express, somehow, the realisation he had come to, and Dwight had needed to understand it.

 

“Are you sure?” Dwight asked now, his voice still choked. It was so unusual for Dwight to sound like that. Ross kissed him again, a little more firmly, mouth pressed against mouth, a promise of something more. “Ross,” Dwight mumbled against his lips, “Ross, I must – you must be –,”

 

“Sure as I can be,” Ross interrupted. “Sure as any of us can be.” Dwight turned his face away from Ross’s mouth, and Ross wanted to chase him, to capture Dwight’s mouth again, to delve into it in the way he had discovered Dwight liked, but he knew Dwight well enough to know that without an answer, nothing more would be permissible. “Yes, Dwight,” he said, as patiently as he could. “Yes, I’m sure. I – I never thought I could be, but I am.” He cupped Dwight’s face in his hand and felt the scrape of stubble against his palm. “Of some things, at least, I am sure,” he added, not able to deny the truth. “My feelings…are not those I ever expected to feel. But these past few hours…these past weeks…”

 

“Caroline has a way of making one see things differently,” Dwight said quietly. Ross nodded, and Dwight exhaled a long breath. “Well,” Dwight murmured. “I, too, feel things I should never have imagined. If it had been anyone but you…”

 

“Oh, yes,” Ross agreed. “Yes, I know. It _could_ not have been anyone else.” Nobody else, he was quite certain, could have elicited such feelings from him. Only Dwight, and then only in these particular circumstances into which they had been gently prodded and cajoled by Caroline, exasperating woman that she was. “Caroline, too,” Ross said, prompted by that thought. “It is for both of you, that I care.” Dwight murmured his agreement, and something of what Ross had said seemed to spark something in him, for he moved ever-closer to Ross, pressed up against him, chest to chest, nose to nose. Ross kissed him again; kissing Dwight, he was discovering, was so unique in its pleasures that he could not compare it to anything else. No doubt it was mostly because Dwight was a man, and the only man Ross had ever kissed, but it didn’t matter. The reason was irrelevant. The delight of it was the thing, and Ross found it delightful to kiss, to lick, to gently nip on Dwight’s lower lip and listen to the answering groan, deep in Dwight’s throat.

 

There was a growing hardness, pressed against Ross’s groin; his own cock, too, was filling. The closeness, the intimacy, the emotions were all reawakening Ross’s desire. He used his arm around Dwight’s waist to hold him still while Ross realigned them. Dwight still wore his shirt, and it hung down to his thighs, but even so the feeling of cock against hard cock was shocking. Dwight made a surprised sound, and Ross found himself clutching onto Dwight, not sure whether he wanted more or less, to rut against Dwight or to fling himself away.

 

“I don’t know,” he gasped out. “I don’t know –,”

 

“Nor I.” Dwight’s hands came up to rest on Ross’s arms, almost but not quite pushing him away. There was a sound from the bed, and the men both froze. Ross was all but holding his breath as he glanced to the bed. Little enough to be seen in the moonlight, but there were the two dark heads against the white pillow. Caroline had made the sound, he thought: a sigh in her sleep, a shuffling of her limbs. Perhaps she missed Dwight. Slowly, little by little, Ross relaxed, as it became clearer that neither woman was on the verge of waking. Dwight, too, seemed to relax, though his hands were still on Ross’s arms, still poised on the verge of pushing him away.

 

“Ross,” he said, very quietly, “that part – that part you _cannot_ be certain of. If you try to tell me you are, I shan’t believe you.”

 

“No,” Ross said. “No, I’m not certain of it – of how far it could go, of how far I would want it to go…but I am sure of some of it, Dwight.” He was sure that he liked kissing Dwight. He was sure, now, that Dwight’s physical proximity caused desire to stir – the evidence was impossible to deny. Ross was even sure that the sensations he had felt, when Dwight had looked at him naked, had not only been those of embarrassment or discomfort, as he had supposed at the time. There had been pride too, and now, when Ross thought of it, he wondered if there had not been a little of lust as well. He felt almost like a youth again, fumbling through his first sexual encounters, unsure and untried, not knowing what he might like or even what was truly possible. “I don’t know,” he murmured, “how much I might want…but I think we would do ourselves, and our wives, a disservice if we did not try to find out.”

 

Dwight took a deep breath in, and exhaled slowly. “Well,” he said, “now would seem to provide ample opportunity.”

 

“Yes,” Ross agreed. “But we should wake Demelza and Caroline. I –,” He hesitated, trying to put his feelings into words. “I said to Caroline, weeks ago, that we must be all four together, or each in our own marriages,” he said at last. “I don’t know that I can explain why, fully, except that I think it would be better for us all.”

 

Dwight’s thumb was stroking back and forth on his arm, just below Ross’s shoulder. “I expect jealousy plays a part,” he said gently. Ross shrugged. “I agree, of course,” Dwight went on. “Though I suspect Caroline may remind you that you’re away for a good many months at a time, these days. And Demelza rarely goes to London with you.”

 

Ross grimaced. “I had not thought of that,” he had to admit. “But I’ll be here until September. Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. We’ve barely begun together. Thinking of the future feels premature. For tonight, at least.” Dwight murmured his agreement, and Ross kissed him once more, relishing the feel of Dwight’s mouth and the way the stubble on their chins and cheeks rasped together. So unlike kissing a woman, so wholly unlike that he could not begin to describe the differences. Then Ross let Dwight go, Dwight’s hands fell from his arms, and they returned to the bed, Dwight to Caroline’s side and Ross to Demelza’s.

 

Demelza woke as soon as Ross shook her, alert in a second, and she would have sat up but for Ross’s hand on her shoulder, pressing her into the bed. For a moment she didn’t know where she was. The canopy above her was unfamiliar, the shadows not the known shapes of her own bedroom.

 

“What is it?” she demanded. “What’s amiss?” Ross chuckled softly, and Demelza’s mind caught up. She was in the guest bedroom of Nampara, and the warm presence against her back was Caroline. Dwight was – she craned her neck to see him. There he was, kneeling on the bed beside Caroline, his hand on Caroline’s shoulder, shaking gently. Demelza looked back at Ross as he smoothed her hair away from her face. “Is it time to go?” she asked him, not bothering to try to hide her disappointment. “Already?”

 

“No, my love, not yet,” Ross reassured her. “Dwight and I were hoping you ladies have slept enough for now.”

 

“Oh!” said Demelza, a delicious shiver running through her body at the way he sounded. She knew that rasp in his throat, that deep richness in his voice. “Again?” Still slow, not asleep nor even half-asleep but _slow_ from the dregs of it milling about in her body, it took her another moment to register his precise words. “You and Dwight?” she questioned. “Ross, do you – are you –,” Ross leaned down and kissed her, kissing away whatever she might have tried to say. But though he could stop her speaking, he could not stop her thinking, and Demelza was waking up properly now, putting the pieces together. Ross and Dwight had both been awake, before they had woken her. They must have been, for if Ross had been awake first, he’d have roused Demelza before Dwight, and if Dwight had been the first to wake, he would have woken Caroline. No, the two men had been awake, and that meant – _surely_ that meant they had been talking. Surely that meant something had been discussed, and agreed. She knew well enough that Ross had held back from touching Dwight overmuch earlier, and Dwight had been much the same, both clearly hesitant to overcome that final hurdle. She hadn’t minded much, too swept away by the focus of all three of them, Ross and Dwight and Caroline. But she had noticed it. Of course she had noticed it, for she wanted all four of them to be together in this, just as Caroline did. Loving with hearts and minds and bodies alike.

 

But they had been awake together; they had spoken. Demelza wondered what they had said to each other, her husband and her friend, in the secretive darkness of the night. She wondered what had been decided, what they had agreed. Something had changed, that much she could clearly sense. Something had prompted them to come back to the bed, to wake her and Caroline. Not that Caroline seemed willing to wake. At Demelza’s back, Caroline was making a grumbling sort of noise, clearly resisting Dwight’s efforts to pull her from sleep. Demelza put her hand to Ross’s face, cupping his cheek, tender and gentle and trying to convey her happiness. Then she broke the kiss.

 

“Let me wake her,” she said, to nobody in particular. Ross kissed her nose, sweetly, and then pulled back to let her twist around in the bed. Caroline’s arm was around Demelza’s waist, almost too hot with four bodies so close together on a warm summer’s night, and between her arm and the two men on either side of the bed, Demelza scarcely had room to turn. But she managed it, and pressed close to Caroline, and kissed her mouth, and her cheeks, and her forehead. “Caroline,” she murmured. “Caroline, darling, wake up.” Caroline heaved a sigh, and her nose crinkled in dislike, in a way that Demelza found oddly endearing. She kissed Caroline again, and flicked her tongue across Caroline’s lower lip. At last Caroline’s eyes fluttered open, just a little.

 

“Oh,” she said, a long sighing exhalation. “Oh, it wasn’t a dream.”

 

“No, darling,” Demelza said, elation bubbling through her whole body, a delicious fizzing that made her feel lighter than air. It must have showed in her voice or expression, for Caroline began to smile, a slow smile that crept across her whole face, and behind Demelza, Ross chuckled again. “They want us to wake up,” Demelza confided. “I b’lieve they’ve notions of – how d’you say it, Ross? De-debore…something.”

 

“Debauchery,” Ross supplied. “And yes, I’d say that we do.”

 

“I think Ross has another idea, dearest,” Dwight said, bending low to murmur into Caroline’s ear. Demelza lifted her head, stretching her neck, demanding – and receiving – a kiss from him. The angle was too awkward to sustain it for long, though, and far too soon she had to subside back against the pillow. But Dwight followed her down, leaning across Caroline, chasing her mouth with his, tongue stroking against hers in a way that made Demelza shiver. It made her wonder what his tongue would feel like elsewhere on her body. Her breasts, of course, he had already lavished with attention, but elsewhere…arousal began to grow, heat curling deep in her stomach, her loins. Dwight withdrew as Ross bent down to replace him – a haphazard kiss, this, lips moving across each other but no proper connection, because of the way she was lying and his position behind her. But it was enough for Demelza to know he did, indeed, have another proposition for them. She felt it in his urgency, in the way he mouthed at her jaw and her throat when the angle proved too difficult for a prolonged kiss.

 

“Well,” Caroline remarked, “since Ross’s other ideas have proven most rewarding, I dare say we might indulge him.” She was breathless, hardly as casual as she was trying to sound. Demelza bit her lip, hesitating for a moment. Then, beneath the blankets, she stretched her arm down to find the hem of Caroline’s shift. Caroline gave a gasp as Demelza pulled it upwards, but she didn’t object, nor try to stop Demelza. Dwight saw what Demelza was doing and began to help her, tugging at Caroline’s sleeves in an attempt to get Caroline to take her arms from them. “Does this plan involve _all_ of us being naked?” Caroline asked, breathless and hopeful. “Ross?” Demelza got the shift up to Caroline’s chest, and Dwight pulled it the rest of the way, over her head.

 

“I’ll light a candle,” Ross said roughly. He left the bed, but Demelza didn’t bother waiting for light. She couldn’t see much, but she could feel, and she could taste, and though she had been awake for only a few minutes, Ross and Dwight and Caroline had already woken her body quite thoroughly, with just a few kisses. She found Caroline’s breast, cupped it in her hand, and shifted down the bed a little so she could explore it with her mouth. Caroline gasped again as Demelza flicked her tongue across a nipple. “ _God_!” Ross groaned. “Wait for the light, Demelza!” She paid no attention to him, though she knew he would very likely make her regret it. Instead she took Caroline’s nipple into her mouth and sucked on it, swirled her tongue around it, feeling how it hardened under her attentions. It was as delightful as Demelza had thought it would be, sucking and licking and _tasting_ Caroline’s nipple, her breast, her skin – there was a faint saltiness it, from the sea air and from sweat. And oh, Demelza loved the way Caroline responded, arching up and making soft, encouraging sounds.

 

“Wait, wait for Ross,” Dwight said, but he was bending over them both, kissing Caroline’s shoulder, her neck. He came to meet Demelza’s at Caroline’s breast, and somehow they kissed, messily, with lips and tongues teasing at Caroline’s nipple as well as each other’s mouths. A light flared, a match struck; Ross lit two candles, and then a third, and now Demelza could see, the candlelight painting Caroline’s skin in shades of yellow and gold and velvety shadows.

 

“Lovely as it is to see, this isn’t what I had in mind,” Ross said, coming back to the bed, his hand sliding across Demelza’s back. He leaned over her, nudged Dwight aside but didn’t attend to Caroline’s breast, as Demelza had expected. Instead he kissed Dwight, deep and purposeful. They were all so close now, Demelza pressed against Caroline, Dwight and Ross meeting over her, and Demelza shivered despite the heat of three bodies in such close proximity to her. She kissed the underside of Caroline’s breast, and felt Ross’s hand come around from her back, wandering onto her own breast. “I want,” Ross was muttering against Dwight’s mouth, “I want to try…”

 

“What, Ross?” Caroline demanded breathlessly. “What?”

 

“I want to taste,” said Ross.

 

Demelza gasped against Caroline’s skin, and somehow she managed to wriggle out from beneath the two men. She reached out for the bedpost and used it to pull herself upright, until she was kneeling on the bed. Ross rolled down into the place she had vacated, beside Caroline, and Demelza had to pause for a moment, to stare down at them, side by side and both naked, the blankets flung back so Demelza could see most of Caroline and all of Ross. She had always thought Ross the handsomest man she had ever known, and that was not changing with age; though he was nearly halfway through his forties, he was as lean as he had been at twenty-seven when he’d married her, and a little more scarred but no less attractive. And Caroline was beautiful, so beautiful – not the most beautiful woman Demelza had ever seen, for she’d seen some beauties, but utterly attractive because she was _Caroline_ , whom Demelza loved. They looked striking together, with candlelight flickering over them. Ross was hard already. Demelza licked her lips, and glanced at Dwight; he, too, was staring. Then he met her eyes, and swallowed. She wondered if he knew what Ross had meant by his words. She wondered if he knew what Ross wanted.

 

“Taste what?” Caroline was asking. “Ross, what – what do you want?”

 

Dwight did know what Ross meant, or at least he was fairly certain. Ross meant – surely he meant, surely he wanted to…to taste Dwight’s cock. The idea of it made his mouth dry, made his heart pound in his chest. He had not supposed that Ross meant anything like _that_ , when Ross had suggested that they try to find out how far they might want to go, that they should experiment a little with this strange new attraction between them. He’d thought, at most, that they would begin to physically explore each other, that they would begin to expand their touches beyond faces and heads, beyond shoulders. Dwight had tried earlier, a little, had reached out and touched Ross, unable to resist rifling his fingers through the thick hair on Ross’s chest. He had assumed that they would try more of that. Dwight knew enough of Ross’s body to know the shape of it, the contours of muscle and bone and skin, but he didn’t _know_ those things about Ross, as he had not known things about Demelza, despite knowing her body from aiding her in childbirth. Dwight couldn’t say for certain how much he wanted, whether there were limits to this new desire he felt for Ross, but he knew, at least, that he wanted to _touch_. He wanted to learn those planes and angles, to explore the parts of Ross’s body that he had previously never looked at except clinically. And he’d assumed Ross was interested in the same, that tonight the most they would do would be to take each other in hand.

 

He had not imagined that Ross might propose something like this. Caroline had once suggested that Ross might – that he might – but though Dwight had tipped over the edge into orgasm at the suggestion, he had never really contemplated the reality of such an act. He had never imagined Ross would want to, nor even that he himself would be so interested. And Dwight was definitely interested. The bold proclamation of Ross’s wish had sent heat pulsing through his veins, heat of anticipation and desire. Dwight had heard his fair share of bawdy talk, when he’d been in the navy and indeed in his work as a doctor, but somehow Ross’s plain, understated declaration made Dwight feel flushed, his cock heavy between his thighs. He _wanted_. He wanted Ross to touch him like that. Incredible to think that only a few months ago he had never dreamed of such urges, and yet here they were, and Ross was looking at him, his mouth curved into a smile as if he knew what Dwight was thinking.

 

“Well?” Ross said.

 

Dwight licked his lips. “Ross,” he began, “are you _sure_ –,”

 

“The next person to ask me that will get a well-deserved smack,” Ross said, his eyes rolling skywards for a moment, his mouth twisting into a scowl. Dwight subsided, but Demelza was giggling suddenly, lifting a hand to muffle it. Ross turned his scowl on her, but it only lasted a moment longer; then he, too, was chuckling, at some joke they both knew but from which Dwight and Caroline were excluded. Dwight glanced down at Caroline, and she lifted her eyebrows at him and shrugged one shoulder. “Well,” Ross chuckled, “don’t think I won’t, Demelza.”

 

“No, Ross,” Demelza said, a few giggles still escaping from behind her hand.

 

“How intriguing,” Caroline drawled. “But Ross, darling, you mentioned something about tasting?”

 

“Mm, yes.” Ross sobered, and looked at Dwight again. Dwight hesitated, still somewhat wishing Ross would answer the question that he’d refused to let Dwight finish, but it was clear Ross was weary of being asked. It was obvious Ross was determined, even if he was not entirely certain. And now that it was a realistic prospect, now that it was being offered to him, Dwight could not possibly refuse. It would be unthinkable, for his body’s responses were too acute to pretend that he did not _want_ Ross to put his mouth to Dwight’s cock. Perhaps Ross sensed some of Dwight’s conflict, his hesitation, for he gestured for Dwight to come closer. “Come here,” he said. It was a command, though gently spoken, and Dwight could do nothing but obey. He knelt forwards, and Caroline wriggled out of the way, and then Ross’s hand cupped Dwight’s face, his thumb brushing across Dwight’s cheekbone. “Sure as I can be,” he said softly.

 

It was a welcome concession on Ross’s part. Dwight swallowed, and gave a slight nod. He heard Caroline inhale sharply, as if she had just realised what Ross intended, but he could spare her no more attention, for Ross was kissing him again, and Dwight had already grown used to the way that Ross required all of his attention, when they kissed. Ross took everything and demanded everything. His hand on Dwight’s cheek guided Dwight to wherever Ross wanted him, holding him close, _pulling_ him close, as Ross’s tongue swiped against his and his lips worked against Dwight’s. Dwight had once been close to drowning, after his ship had been wrecked, but this – this was drowning of a different sort. A total submersion into a pleasure granted and gifted to him by a man to whom Dwight had long since pledged his friendship, his loyalty, his faith.

 

Somehow Ross manoeuvred him down, so that Dwight was on his back on the bed and Ross was leaning over him. Caroline was at his side, and Demelza a little lower down the bed, leaning against Caroline, almost draped over her, an arm around Caroline’s waist and her chin resting on Caroline’s shoulder. Dwight realised, now, how overwhelmed Demelza must have felt earlier, when she had been subject to the intentions of the other three – it made him feel exposed, to have all three of them watching him, above him on the bed, Ross’s hand on his stomach and Caroline’s on his shoulder and Demelza stroking her fingers in a circle around the bone of his ankle. He was so utterly exposed, but at the same time it was intoxicating, to see the desire in them all, to feel the love pouring out of them towards him. It made him dizzy; he was glad of the firm bed beneath him, the grounding touch of Ross’s hand on his stomach, warm through Dwight’s shirt.

 

Ross bent lower and kissed him again, gentler this time, as if he sensed Dwight’s feelings. His hand on Dwight’s stomach was motionless at first, but after a few moments it slid lower, skirting around Dwight’s groin, over his hip and down in a long stroke along his thigh. Dwight groaned, and reached up to tangle his fingers in Ross’s hair. The kiss turned deeper, sharper somehow, Ross’s mouth and tongue demanding again, his teeth scraping across Dwight’s lips. Hands on Dwight’s leg – Ross’s and Demelza’s, meeting at his knee. He imagined their fingers twining together. Then Ross’s hand came back up, and with it the hem of Dwight’s shirt.

 

“This has to come off, now,” Ross muttered against his mouth. “Let me see you.” He gave Dwight no chance to refuse, already lifting the shirt, exposing Dwight’s cock and stomach and chest – but that wasn’t a bad thing, Dwight had to admit to himself, to be so ordered, for the lack of choice made it easier, somehow, to give up the final shreds of modesty and be as naked as they were. Caroline aided Ross, tugging at the sleeves until Dwight had no choice but to sit up a little, to let the shirt be pulled over his head. Then, before he could feel more than a twinge of discomfort, there were hands on his chest, his shoulders – Ross and Caroline both touching him, Ross exploring and Caroline leading him, finding all of Dwight’s most sensitive places and making him groan, making him feel drugged with desire. And Demelza touching him too, but less teasingly, her fingers forming a circle around his ankle, like an anchor keeping him steady.

 

And then – oh _God_ , and then Ross touched his cock, fingers and thumb making a circle around it, and Dwight gasped and arched up into it as Ross tentatively, gently, stroked from root to tip.

 

“Christ,” he groaned. “Ross –,” Ross stroked Dwight’s cock again, a little firmer now, as if the first touch had been to reassure himself that he could do it, and now he had other intentions. Dwight didn’t care, couldn’t bring himself to question any of it. All he could do was feel, and oh, it was an indescribable sensation. So different to Caroline’s hand on him, her fingers slender and her palms free of calluses, her movements smooth and the physical pleasure of it compounded by the way she smiled at him as she brought him to completion. Ross’s hand was larger, his palms roughened, his fingers broader and blunter, his movements rougher, more hesitant – though Dwight couldn’t tell whether it was through reticence for the act or ignorance of how Dwight liked to be touched. Ross stroked again, and again, and then circled his thumb around the tip of Dwight’s cock, and Dwight was panting, thrusting up as much as he could, drowning in sensation. Ross’s hand at Dwight’s cock, Caroline running her fingers across his torso, Demelza still anchoring him at his foot. Dwight flung an arm out, grasped Ross’s thigh, his forearm brushing against – oh, Ross was hard too, and Dwight wanted to touch but he was too afraid of losing what he already had, too afraid of scaring Ross away.

 

“What does it feel like?” Caroline asked, breathless from the fizzing excitement that was making her heart flutter and her skin feel too tight. She had imagined this, she had _dreamed_ of this, but even earlier this evening, she had only been able to hope that it would happen one day. She had hoped that Dwight and Ross would find a way to desire each other, to explore it in deeper ways than just kissing, but she hadn’t truly thought it would happen tonight. And now here was Ross touching Dwight, Ross exploring Dwight’s torso and arms and grasping Dwight’s cock, stroking up and down while Dwight made such beautiful sounds. She had not imagined there could be greater happiness than she had felt earlier, but here it was. Caroline’s heart felt as though it would burst, and hearing Dwight, seeing the hesitant strokes of Ross’s hand around Dwight’s cock, was making her own body react with desire. She shifted a little, feeling wetness between her thighs, but it would wait. Dwight was the important one now – Dwight, and Ross. “What does it feel like?” she asked again.

 

“Di-different,” Dwight gasped out. “ _Oh_!” Ross had done something, some twist of his wrist, and Dwight was rendered speechless. Caroline stroked her thumb across a scar on Dwight’s upper arm, marvelling at it all, and then Ross did it again, whatever movement it was that had made Dwight moan like that. Dwight’s eyes were wide, unfocused, his lips parted and moving soundlessly. It was so strange to see somebody else make Dwight look like that, so odd to know that someone other than Caroline was playing his body in such a way, and producing such delightful results. And yet it was not a strangeness that she disliked. She felt somehow that this was right, that they were all doing only what was perfectly natural for them to do. Sharing each other, sharing themselves, delving into new depths of love and affection. All four together, all entangled physically and emotionally in new and unheard of ways.

 

“That’s what I do to him,” Demelza murmured. Her breath was warm against Caroline’s bare shoulder, and it made Caroline shiver again. “That – Ross, show her – there, like that. Ross likes when I do that.”

 

“So does Dwight,” said Ross. He sounded hoarse. “Don’t you?” Dwight said nothing, perhaps could not speak, but his answer was clear enough. Caroline laughed, unable to help herself, so delighted that this was coming to pass. Ross glanced away from Dwight, lifted an eyebrow at her, and shook his head slightly. “Quiet,” he reminded her. “Not too loud, my dear, or we’ll have trouble.”

 

“Come here,” Demelza said, lifting her head from Caroline’s shoulder. “Let me kiss you.” Caroline obeyed, turning her face to Demelza’s and accepting the kiss. It was a soft kiss, gentle and loving, and for a short while Caroline was lost in it. Demelza’s tongue stroked across her lips, her hand cupped Caroline’s cheek, and Caroline felt as though she could willingly spend hours with Demelza simply sharing kisses like this. She could do that so happily, so blissfully, losing herself in the dream of being allowed to kiss, allowed to hold, all hotter need damped down by the warm tenderness of Demelza’s kisses. But though Caroline longed for hours of such an occupation, still Demelza could not distract her for long at present. Not when Dwight was panting out breathless pleas for more, please, _more_.

 

Ross glanced aside again, but not at Caroline this time. He looked at Demelza, and something about his expression made it seem, to Caroline, that he was seeking some permission or reassurance. The former seemed strange, given his lead-taking throughout the whole evening, but Caroline looked at Demelza in time to see her smile gently, and nod a little. Permission or reassurance – either way, it was given, and Ross altered his grasp of Dwight’s cock, leaned down, and hesitated just before his mouth came in contact with it. Dwight whined, a sound Caroline had never heard him make before, and she had to kiss him then, had to swallow that sound into her own mouth. She bent over, found his lips with hers, and so missed seeing the moment when Ross did as he had said he would, and tasted Dwight. But oh, she felt it, and she heard it, in Dwight’s reactions. He showed it in the way he gave a gasping moan, and the way he arched up off the bed, and the way his hand came to clutch at her shoulder. Beside her, Demelza was gasping too, and her warm hand slid across Caroline’s back, over her hip, fingers delving between Caroline’s legs as if what she saw was an impetus for her own desire. Torn between kissing Dwight and _watching_ Dwight and revelling in the feel of slender fingers stroking across her wet quim and nub, Caroline moaned and shuddered and in the end gave up the kiss.

 

It was worth the sacrifice, for when she straightened up and was able to see what Ross was doing to Dwight, it took her breath away. Ross still had Dwight in hand, a fist around the base of his cock, but he was using his mouth, too, swiping his tongue across the head of Dwight’s cock, slow and tentative, and pausing every so often with a strange expression, as if he could hardly believe what he was doing. But he was not pulling back, he was not withdrawing, and though he looked somewhat confused, unsure in a way that sat ill on him, Caroline thought that he did not dislike the experience.

 

Dwight was certainly not disliking it; his hand slid from her shoulder, went to his mouth, covered it to stifle his cries. Every time Ross licked at his cock, he shuddered – and every time Ross licked at Dwight’s cock, Demelza stroked her thumb across Caroline’s nub, timing it so precisely that Caroline shuddered along with Dwight. Waves of desire rose within her, rising to greet each touch of Demelza’s fingers, swelling with every glimpse of Dwight’s hard, spit-slicked cock and Ross’s tongue licking across it. It was intoxicating to watch, and Caroline swayed and gasped for breath and reached out for someone, anyone, to touch. She found Demelza, Demelza’s breast just perfectly positioned within reach, and she heard Demelza inhale sharply, felt her press her breast into Caroline’s hand.

 

“Judas,” Demelza whispered. “Caroline… _look_ at them…”

 

“I know,” said Caroline, breathless and ragged. Dwight muttered something, but it was inaudible, incomprehensible. Ross glanced at them again, she and Demelza, and his gaze flickered lower, to Demelza’s hand between Caroline’s thighs and Caroline’s on Demelza’s breast. Signs of arousal were beginning to show more strongly in him, now. Though his cock had been hard since Demelza had woken Caroline, Ross had maintained his composure better than any of the others, as in control of himself and the arrangements as he had been for much of the night. Now, even in candlelight, Caroline thought she could detect a flush in his normally-pale face, and she could see how his chest heaved with each panting breath. But still he seemed to hesitate, still something seemed to hold him back. He held Dwight’s cock in his hand and licked at the head of it as if it was some treat he was trying to decide if he liked, but nothing more. He did not, as Caroline longed to see, take Dwight’s cock into his mouth and suck, as she sometimes did for Dwight.

 

No, Ross was hesitant. But of course he had never done this before, never dreamed of it before, and though Ross was unquestionably the leader and director of events, within this sphere, Caroline recognised that he must have help, now, to do anything further. He needed guidance, and Caroline was wholly willing to provide it. After all, she knew Dwight better than anyone. She knew what he liked, and what pleased him most. If Ross was hesitant for lack of guidance, lack of experience, then Caroline would show him the way.

 

“Demelza, my sweet, change places with me,” she murmured. “Ross, darling…let me show you.”

 

“Christ,” Dwight choked out, his head lifting a little from the pillow. “Caroline –,”

 

“Trust me, Dwight,” she soothed, stroking her hand up his thigh as Demelza obediently swapped places with her. Demelza bent and kissed Dwight, helpfully providing him with a distraction while Caroline settled into her new position. Ross had straightened a little, leaving just his hand on Dwight’s cock, stroking it again as he had earlier. Caroline kissed him because it was too irresistible a temptation, licking at his lips to taste Dwight on them, and Ross slid his free arm around her waist and pulled her close, his skin hot against hers. “Trust me,” she whispered against his mouth. Ross inhaled, as if he intended to speak, but then he let the breath out and nodded. He trusted her, or would try to trust her. Either way, Caroline took it as a granting of permission. She kissed Ross once more, and then she bent over Dwight and took his cock into her mouth.

 

Ross faltered, his fingers growing slack around Dwight’s cock, the sight before him too distracting to continue movement. Dwight’s cock, wet from his own attentions, disappearing into Caroline’s mouth – not all of it, not the whole length, though by the way her cheeks hollowed and she took him in with practiced ease, Ross thought she could easily do so. Ross was still not altogether convinced that the sight of Dwight’s erect cock was stirring desire with him, precisely – though he certainly liked the way that Dwight responded to his touch, and felt a reaction within himself to that response – but to see Caroline sucking at him, to see her mouth stretched around Dwight’s hard, wet cock…oh yes, that was stirring desire. He wondered if it was something they did often. Demelza always said that she liked to use her mouth on him, but Ross had never found it as satisfying as sinking into her wet core, as a way to climax. Oh, he could and did peak from it, but it was nothing compared to being joined to Demelza in that most intimate of ways. When it came to pleasure given or taken from a mouth, Ross far preferred to give. But from the way Dwight was moving, the way he was responding – the way he kept kissing Demelza, as if it was the only way to keep from crying out – it was clear that Dwight enjoyed the experience immensely.

 

Caroline withdrew. The sound of Dwight’s cock leaving her lips was almost obscene. The way she looked at Ross, from under her eyelashes, made him want to kiss her again, but when he leaned towards her, she leaned back a little and shook her head.

 

“Come to Dwight, now,” she coaxed him. “Come, Ross. Like this.” She licked a broad stripe up Dwight’s cock, from base to tip, and Dwight groaned. His hand was still on Ross’s thigh, and his fingers dug in now, grasping, not painful but firm – as if to keep Ross in place, as if his hand on Ross’s thigh could keep Ross from moving away if he chose.

 

But Ross did not choose to move away. The thought of doing what Caroline had done, and taking Dwight’s cock fully into his mouth, did not appeal. Indeed, the idea made him feel…not disgusted, not that, but it was still too far, still an idea that he could not stomach. He had not intended such an act, when he’d said that he wanted to taste. He had thought of exploring a little, with his mouth. He had wanted just that – to see what Dwight tasted like, what another man tasted like. The skin of his penis, the liquid emissions from the tip, the sweat and the musk of him. It was perhaps a strange thing to want, but that was what he had wanted, and it was only when Caroline had intervened that Ross realised how teasing his touch must have been to Dwight. And Dwight deserved more than teasing; he deserved completion, granted to him by the people he loved, not by his own hand. Ross could not take Dwight into his mouth as Caroline had, but there were other things that he could do.

 

He bent and repeated what Caroline had done, swiping his tongue up Dwight’s cock. Caroline was still close; Ross caught her mouth and kissed her, sloppy and wet, guiding her back to the hard organ so that their kiss was against it, almost _around_ it. Somehow it was easier to touch, to lick, when Caroline’s mouth was there too. Both licking, then Caroline sucking at the tip until Ross took her place, pushing himself to close his lips around the head of Dwight’s cock and to suck a little, just a _little_. And all the while Dwight was moaning, gasping, shuddering under their ministrations. Whenever Ross glanced up, Dwight was kissing Demelza – her lips, her face, her throat, anything, it seemed, to keep his mouth occupied. And Demelza kissing him back just as desperately, leaning over Dwight, her breasts brushing against his chest. Ross thought he glimpsed a hand between her legs, but everything was such a confusion of skin and limbs that he couldn’t tell if it was her own hand, or Dwight’s, or even Caroline’s. It didn’t matter, anyway; she was being pleasured, and that was as far as Ross cared right now.

 

As for Caroline, she seemed to be wholly ignoring her own desire in favour of helping Ross, of guiding him in the touches that Dwight liked best. Ross kissed her again and tasted Dwight’s muskiness on her tongue. He was becoming familiar with that particular taste, another man’s seed so like and yet so unlike his own. Not dissimilar to tasting himself on Demelza’s lips but so wholly alien because it was _Dwight’s_ taste, the taste of another man. And yet Ross was finding that he did not dislike it.

 

He returned to Dwight, swiping his tongue down Dwight’s shaft. Dwight moaned something that might have been Ross’s name. Caroline nudged Ross aside once more, her tongue following the path Ross’s had taken, then, when she reached his root, swirling around Dwight’s balls and then sucking one into her mouth. There was a gasp from someone – Ross didn’t know who – and suddenly Dwight was moving with greater urgency, thrusting his hips up as if his need for friction had grown intolerable. Ross reached for his own cock, hard between his thighs and unattended thus far, even as he took Dwight in hand again. But all Ross managed was a few strokes before his hand was nudged aside and another replaced it – a hand not belonging to Caroline, who was bracing herself against the bed with both arms, nor Demelza, who was too far away, and it was too large for a woman’s hand anyway, large and calloused and less sure than either of them would be.

 

Ross flinched.

 

Whether it was the touch itself or the knowledge of who was touching him that caused such a reaction, Ross could not say. It was too much: that was all. Too much, too utterly overwhelming, and not in the uncomplicated way of pure pleasure. Another man’s hand on his cock, another man touching him, was _too much_ , even though it was Dwight, for though Ross loved Dwight – loved him more than he had ever dreamed was possible – Dwight was still so utterly, undeniably male. It was a shock, to feel calluses against his cock and know they were not his own. To feel broad fingers circling his erection, stroking in a clumsy but not unpractised way, betraying – perhaps – Dwight’s uncertainty as well as the distraction he surely felt from his own arousal. A shock, a jolting return of incredulity that this was happening at all, that Ross was touching Dwight and had _tasted_ Dwight and had liked those things. More than liked, much more: Ross had grown aroused doing those things. He was hard still, despite the shock.

 

And yet he flinched when Dwight’s hand swept down and up his cock. He flinched, and his hand on Dwight’s cock tightened, inadvertently, just as Caroline did something with her mouth on the head of Dwight’s cock that made her husband arch up into her with a long, low groan. Breathless panting from Demelza, almost moaning, ceasing to kiss Dwight as he climaxed, almost writhing with it, mouth open in a voiceless cry, his whole body, it seemed, reacting to his climax. His seed spilled, thick strands of it that striped across Ross’s hand, his arm, even his face, for he was close to Dwight still. Caroline too suffered, though she had sense or experience enough to roll to one side, escaping the worst of it. Ross spluttered, and pushed himself away from Dwight, and almost fell off the bed. He caught himself just in time by grasping the bedpost nearest him. He found a shirt – Dwight’s – and hurried to wipe his face as Demelza’s aroused sounds became a peal of laughter.  

 

“Your f-face,” she giggled. “Ross, your face!”

 

“Quiet,” Ross snapped. As soon as the word was spoken, he wished his tone had been different, less sharp. He bridled at her finding mirth in his discomfort, his distaste, but he knew she meant nothing by it, giddy as she was with love and happiness and stimulation. “Quiet,” he said again, softer. “Demelza –,” She tried to stifle her giggles, ducking her head to hide her face against the pillow. Ross huffed and discarded the soiled shirt. Dwight seemed in a haze, collapsed boneless on the bed, as if done in by their activities. His hand was still between Demelza’s thighs, though, his thumb moving a little against her nub, and Ross thought that Dwight would reach for him again, too, if Ross moved closer again. But Ross was beyond Dwight’s reach, and for the moment he was desperately glad of it, though lust still pulsed through his veins and centred on his heavy cock. He was still in need, but he could not, _would_ not, let Dwight touch him again. Not just now. Not until Ross had had time to think it all over, to decide what he had felt and thought. It was all too much to stomach, tonight. He had pushed himself and had found he could go further than he had ever supposed, but more would be too much. More, tonight, would turn discomfort into something more deep-rooted.

 

He needed Demelza. All at once, Ross needed her – needed her close to him, below him, around him. He needed, too, her level head and common sense, to help him wade through the tangle of his own thoughts, but that would wait. That would come later, when they were alone. For now he simply _needed_ her.

 

“Caroline, let me come there,” he rasped. Caroline glanced at him, and whatever she saw made her move with alacrity, sliding up the bed so she was practically perched on the pillow next to Demelza’s head. Ross clambered over Dwight, careful not to injure him, and then he caught Demelza’s hips and rolled her onto her back. Demelza’s giggles had petered out, and when she looked up at him through a tangle of hair, Ross knew that she saw his intentions. She hitched a breath, and parted her legs to welcome him. No need to make sure she was ready; he could see she was, wetness glistening on her skin. Ross sank into her with a grunting sigh, deep as he could go, and felt a contentment that went beyond the physical pleasure of it. Demelza was here, she was with him. No matter what else happened, he could always be sure of that.

 

Demelza sighed too, blissfully happy from the feeling being filled with Ross. Happy, too – overjoyed, even – by what had just passed between Ross and Dwight. It had been so beautiful to see, so _arousing_. And Demelza knew that it would not take Ross long to peak, now. In a moment he would begin to move, to thrust, to push them both towards a climax. It would take little for him to reach it; she knew the signs of Ross’s urgent need. Whatever he might think, whatever he might believe, she could _see_ how much Ross was affected by what he had done to Dwight. And Demelza would climax easily, too, aroused by touching Caroline, by kissing Dwight, by Dwight’s fingers in her quim and the sight of Ross’s mouth on Dwight’s cock. It would take so very little. Already the feeling, low in her belly and winding into her nub, was a coiling tension that would need little to send her over the edge. Her heart full, her body claimed again, Demelza felt as though she could hardly ask for more.

 

And yet there was something else that she wanted, something that she did not want left undone, this night. She, too, wanted to taste. And Caroline was, after all, so very close to her, kneeling almost on the pillow, balanced with a hand against the headboard. Right next to Demelza’s head, with so little movement needed on either side in order to bring what Demelza wanted into her reach.

 

Ross tried to kiss her, but Demelza turned her face away and tilted her head back, looking up at Caroline. “Come here,” she whispered. “I want you.” Caroline’s eyes were wide, her lips parted. It was strange, to be looking up at her from below like this, Caroline almost seeming upside down, her breasts casting strange shadows on her stomach that made Demelza want to reach up and trace the shape of them. But Ross tilted his hips against hers, distracting her, and Demelza’s breath caught in her throat. “Ohh,” she sighed. “Ross…”

 

“We’d have to move, sweetheart,” he muttered, chasing her mouth again. This time Demelza met him, kissed him tenderly, not letting him deepen the kiss as she knew he wanted. Yes, she told him silently, they would have to move. Ross groaned against her mouth, and rolled his hips once before he withdrew from her, a slow slide out, brushing against her nub the whole way. It made her shiver uncontrollably, and Ross laughed softly, and kissed her again. Then he tapped her thigh – not quite a slap, but a promise – and gestured with his fingers. “Turn over, then,” he said. “Caroline?”

 

“Yes, I see,” Caroline breathed. As Demelza turned over, pushing herself onto hands and knees, Caroline wriggled down the bed, rearranging herself so she was leaning back against the pillows, her legs parted wide enough for Demelza to rest between them, one knee propped against Dwight’s torso. Dwight was watching them, his eyes hooded, and Demelza spared a moment to reach for him, to brush two fingers across his mouth. Dwight said nothing, his energy clearly spent, but he smiled at Demelza, as if to say he didn’t mind them continuing, and he reached up to clasp Caroline’s hand. Ross pulled Demelza down the bed, to near the edge of it, so he could stand at the foot of it and take her from there, and she could still easily access the parts of Caroline that she wanted most. Then he pushed back into Demelza’s quim from behind, and she cried out at the feeling of it, the angle of Ross’s thrust, the way it made her rock forwards until she managed to properly brace herself.

 

“Quiet,” Ross groaned. “For _God’s sake_ , be quiet.” He held her hips, motionless for now, and Demelza took the chance to adjust her stance a little, weight carried through her arms and shoulders in a way that would no doubt strain her, if she tried to sustain it for long. But she could manage it for long enough. It wouldn’t take much, after all, for Ross to climax, for Demelza to reach a peak. As for Caroline – Demelza didn’t have any skill at this, of course, but she knew what she liked to be done to her, and Caroline was aroused enough that perhaps it would take her as little time to peak as it had for Demelza, earlier, when Caroline had done this to her.

 

Caroline’s quim was dusky pink, glistening with moisture. Demelza exhaled a shaky breath, and Caroline shivered in response. There was a musky scent, this close to Caroline’s sex, but it was scarcely different from the scent Demelza knew from herself, and not at all off-putting. Demelza glanced up, but Caroline wasn’t looking at her; she was looking over Demelza, at Ross, her mouth open and her breasts rising and falling with each heavy breath. She looked so beautiful. More beautiful like this, dishevelled and almost laid out for Demelza to look upon, than Demelza had ever quite seen her before. She was irresistible and there was no reason to resist, so Demelza tilted her head forward and flicked her tongue across Caroline’s wet quim, from the lowest part right up to the nub. Caroline inhaled sharply, and shuddered, so Demelza did it again.

 

Then Ross began to move. Shallow thrusts at first, as if he meant to be patient and let Demelza explore Caroline’s quim for a while. Demelza lapped up the wetness of it, long drags of her tongue that made Caroline moan and shudder, and Ross’s thrusts were gentle enough, slow and shallow enough that Demelza could try to match the rhythm of it, licking _into_ Caroline each time Ross sank deep into Demelza’s own core. The taste of it, of Caroline’s wet quim, was close enough to the taste of Demelza’s own quim, a little salty, a little tangy, and Demelza discovered that in fact, more than simply tolerating it, she _liked_ the taste when it was on Caroline’s skin, Caroline’s slick folds. She lapped at it as if it were honey, determined to trace her tongue across every contour of Caroline’s quim, to taste it _all_. She swirled the tip of her tongue across Caroline’s nub, and oh, Caroline clearly liked that. She liked that a lot, her hips rising just a little, pushing herself closer to Demelza, who obliged her with another teasing swirl.

 

“There,” Caroline panted. “There, there, please, right there, that’s – ,” Her hand flew out, grasped Demelza’s head. Fingers tangled in her hair, tugging a little, forcing Demelza to stay where Caroline wanted. And Ross’s grip on Demelza’s hips became tighter, perhaps in response to the sight before him. Demelza could imagine what he saw, or almost imagine it. She on elbows and knees, near-prostrate before Caroline’s quim that was so beautifully exposed to her but hidden, she thought, from Ross’s sight by Demelza’s head. Demelza, trapped between them, firm hands grasping her hips and fingers tangled in her hair, unable to move either forwards or backwards of her own accord. A thrill of excitement shivered down her spine. She normally disliked being helpless, but this – oh, this was different. Caught between the man she loved best in the world and a woman who was also loved, so dearly. Her helplessness, in this situation, was not dislikeable. Not at all.

 

“Keep your mouth busy, sweetheart,” Ross rasped. “Don’t make a sound, now. Caroline –,”

 

“I’ll be good,” Caroline promised breathlessly. “I’ll be good, just – just move her, let me – _please_ , Ross!”

 

Ross held Demelza’s hips still, pulled out from her and then drove back in, one quick, hard stroke that made Demelza sway forwards, made her cry out. The motion of it, Ross’s thrust, pushed her onto Caroline, onto Caroline’s quim, her mouth pressed up against the wet folds, her nose rubbing against the nub. Her cry was muffled by Caroline’s sex. Caroline echoed her, with a soft moan that must be stifled by something – a hand, a pillow, Demelza couldn’t lift her head enough to see, even if she had cared to do so. Her whole focus was narrowed down to these two things: Ross’s cock sliding in and out of her core, and the smell and taste and _feel_ of Caroline’s quim on her mouth, her face. The slap of Ross’s balls against her flesh, the wetness that coated her face, the slide of her tongue into Caroline’s core, following Ross’s rhythm because Caroline’s fingers were still tangled so tightly in Demelza’s hair that she couldn’t move to set her own pace. All Demelza could do was use her tongue, her lips, to work at Caroline’s quim and nub whenever Ross thrust into her and rocked her forwards.

 

It didn’t take long. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in her quim, flooding her whole body, and the inner muscles of her core contracted around Ross’s cock. Demelza tried not to moan, tried to keep quiet, but sounds escaped her, even when she closed her lips around Caroline’s nub and sucked on it the way she herself always liked. Caroline was panting, her breath hitching with each suck. Ross muttered something inaudible, and his fingers dug into her hips. Then a hand reached between Demelza’s legs, and the brush of Dwight’s finger across her nub made Demelza tip over into climax. She shuddered and gasped and shook, held up only by Ross’s grip on her. Still Ross thrust into her, though his rhythm was stuttering, his own peak so close now. Still Demelza kept sucking at Caroline’s nub, determined to bring Caroline with her. Ross sank into her one last time, groaning, his seed spilling inside her, and Demelza shuddered again, utterly sensitised to every inch of contact between them, every place where skin met skin. Finally Caroline, too, reached her peak, her hand at last falling away from Demelza’s hair as she moaned and arched up off the bed and then sank back down.

 

Demelza licked the last traces of wetness from Caroline’s quim, liking the way the muscles and the folds of it quivered at her touch. Ross stayed sheathed within her, breathing heavily, his fingers at her hips growing gentler. Then he withdrew, and Demelza fell, or was pulled, down off her elbows and knees, onto her side, curled up next to Dwight with his arm around her bare waist.

 

They lay there together, Dwight and Demelza, while Ross pushed himself off the bed and padded across to the wash stand. Dwight knew that he, too, should wash – as indeed should they all – but he was disinclined to move at present. He still felt too overcome by his orgasm, drawn from him by Ross’s hand and mouth, and it was pleasant to lie like this, with Demelza pressed against his side, sweaty and dishevelled and limp. His arm around her waist, his face turned into the mass of her hair. Perhaps all the more pleasant because he knew how rarely he would have this gift of closeness with her. It had gone well tonight – everything had gone well, everyone had seemed fully engaged. Even Ross, towards Dwight. He had done so much more than Dwight had dreamed he would. And then after…it had been incredible to see, Ross taking Demelza while Demelza pleasured Caroline. Had Dwight been a younger man, he would have roused again at the sight of it. But though he was further from fifty than Ross was, Dwight had never quite regained the stamina he’d possessed before his internment in France, and he had been utterly spent with his earlier climax.

 

It had all gone well. But even if they all agreed to go forwards, even if they agreed _how_ that was to happen…even then, it could not be frequent. It would be impossible, not least because Ross was away two or three times a year, in London for Parliament, and he had decreed – and Dwight had agreed – that they should be all four together, or keep to their separate marriages. So Dwight rested his hand on Demelza’s stomach, and inhaled the scent of her hair, and relished the warmth of her skin against his. It was a feeling to be savoured.

 

“Don’t they look well together,” Caroline remarked after a while, as she, too, got off the bed. Dwight opened his eyes and lifted his head just a little, enough to watch her go, seemingly unashamed in her nakedness, her hair spilling down her back. Ross was standing at the wash stand, though he had finished cleaning himself. Dwight looked at him, too: the leanness, the long lines of arms and legs and torso. The dark hair, the soft cock. He _could_ look now – nobody would deny him, not now, even though he knew Ross must still have reservations. Full of his own pleasure though he had been, Dwight had still been aware of Ross’s flinching retreat when he had reached to touch Ross’s cock. Defences had been breached, approaches made, but it would be a slow thing, Dwight thought. Slow and careful as they learned each other and unlearned the instincts taught them both by a lifetime without any desire for another man.

 

Dwight was willing to learn those lessons, because he loved Ross. Loved him, desired him, and was perfectly prepared to be patient, if Ross would but allow it. But he was beginning to think that patience might not be quite so necessary as he had thought earlier this evening. Ross had instigated things, this night. He had pushed past his own hesitance and ploughed new ground. He too, it seemed, was willing to learn.

 

Ross hummed a note of agreement. “They do,” he said. “Wouldn’t it be lovely to keep them like that, always?” Dwight rolled his eyes and put his head back down. Demelza was shaking a little; it took a moment to realise that she was giggling, almost silently. Dwight reached to push aside her hair, and pressed a kiss to the soft skin of her neck, just beneath her ear.

 

“Your husband has a far bawdier mind than I ever gave him credit for,” he murmured to her. “Is he always like this?”

 

“Not always,” Demelza murmured back. “But often.” She turned her head, offered him her mouth, and Dwight kissed her lazily. Her face was dry now, but the scent of Caroline remained on her skin and on her tongue. Dwight was stricken, suddenly, with a longing to see what Demelza looked like with seed on her face – his, or Ross’s, or both. It was almost a grotesque imagining, nothing he had ever thought of or wanted before, in any sexual encounter or fantasy. But then, so much of the past few hours was beyond anything Dwight had ever imagined. He was not like Caroline; he did not generally push his mind in different directions, looking for new ways to seek pleasure. Not that he ever objected to the results of her doing so, but he himself rarely found himself thinking, idly or otherwise, of some particular thing he should like to try with Caroline. Even when he did, it had never been something so…so obscene. Obscene was the only word that suited.

 

And yet here he was, and here they all were, and Demelza smelled of Caroline and, earlier, Dwight had licked Demelza’s wetness from Caroline’s face. Maybe it was a longing that might be tucked away, to be examined and perhaps exposed at a later date.

 

Demelza turned her head away from him at last, and sighed in a contented sort of way. Dwight closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of Caroline washing. After a few moments, a hand touched his back, slid up along his spine and came to rest at the base of his neck. Ross’s hand. It was a little possessive, the placement of his hand, but Dwight didn’t resent it.

 

“You must both wash,” Ross said, gently. “Demelza, don’t go to sleep.”

 

“I’m not asleep,” Demelza protested, in a voice that seemed to suggest otherwise. Dwight smiled, and then his eyes flew open as Ross bent down and pressed a kiss to his mouth. It was chaste and brief, almost casual, but as a casual gesture of affection, Dwight cherished it. “I’ll wash when we go back to our room,” Demelza was saying. “There won’t be enough clean water, here.”

 

“True enough,” agreed Ross. “But you still mustn’t sleep. We’ll have to go, soon.” He leaned across Dwight to kiss Demelza, and then he moved aside to let Dwight up. Reluctantly, Dwight acceded to the need to be clean. He untangled himself from Demelza and smiled as she sighed again, less contentedly this time. Then he joined Caroline at the wash stand, cleaned himself briskly, and afterwards returned with her to the bed. Ross sat on the edge of it, and Demelza was sitting up too, the blanket drawn up over her and her arms wrapped around her bent knees. Caroline crawled in beside her, and Dwight paused to look at his shirt and decide if it was wearable for the short ride back to Killewarren in the morning. It was not.

 

“I’ll have to borrow a shirt,” he said, and joined the three on the bed. He sat near the foot, leaned against the bedpost, and watched the candlelight send shadows across skin and bedding alike. “Mine’s too soiled.”

 

“There’s plenty of Ross’s you can have,” Demelza said. She rested her chin on her knees. It made her look far younger than she really was, almost like the girl she had still been when Dwight had first known her, nineteen or twenty years of age. Not that she ever really looked her age. Thirty-three, thirty-four…something like that, now. Caroline was only a few years younger, but she hadn’t Demelza’s knack of somehow keeping that youthful look. Dwight didn’t mind, of course. He loved Caroline and would always love her, and could not imagine ever finding his desire for her fading away because of something so frivolous as her appearance. But it was a peculiar quality of Demelza’s, and one that did not entirely fade when she caught Dwight’s eye and smiled at him with something less than innocence in her expression. “I’ll fetch you one in the morning,” she said. “Nobody will wonder why.”

 

“I’ll make sure we’ve a towel close at hand, next time,” Ross remarked. He spoke warmly, teasingly. Casually, even – as casual as he had been with his brief kiss to Dwight’s mouth, a few minutes ago before they had all rearranged themselves. But to Dwight there was nothing casual about what Ross said, what his words implied. Nor did Caroline or Demelza seem to take them lightly; Demelza lifted her head from her knees and looked at her husband, and Caroline pushed her hair back behind her ears, knelt upright and put a hand on Demelza’s shoulder to balance herself. Dwight, furthest away from them at the foot of the bed, wrapped his hand around the bedpost and gripped it tightly. Ross had said earlier – or at least he had implied – that his feelings ran deeper than friendship, that he was growing to love Dwight and Caroline as they loved him. But he had not said so outright, for Dwight had been so desperate for Ross to say nothing that he did not mean wholeheartedly that it had all remained an implication. Nothing had been said as firmly as this. ‘Next time’, Ross said, as casually as if discussing their next dinner invitation, as if after all his reservations and warnings and caution, Ross now felt the same as they did.

 

“Next time,” Dwight repeated. “Ross, do you mean –,”

 

“You want us to –,” Caroline began at the same time.

 

“ _Ross_!” exclaimed Demelza.

 

“ – to continue?” Caroline demanded. Her face had lit up, hope filling her whole expression, her whole demeanour. Demelza was beginning to smile. Dwight saw their reactions only peripherally; his focus, like theirs, was on Ross, who was clearly taken aback by them all speaking at once. He glanced at Dwight, one eyebrow quirked in a silent question, then when Dwight said nothing, Ross looked at Caroline and Demelza, eyebrow still raised, lips just beginning to curve into a smile.

 

“Ah,” he said. “Have I not said so already?”

 

Quite unexpectedly, Caroline began to weep. She didn’t intend to, and had felt no sob welling in her eyes or her throat, but suddenly fat tears were trickling down her cheeks. They were silent tears, no choked sobbing to accompany them, but she resented them nonetheless. She was not prone to tears. It was not among her faults or virtues, to spill tears easily either from happiness or sorrow. She had not even cried when her little Sarah had died – not at first, at least, and when finally the tears had come, it had certainly not been where anybody other than Dwight could see her. And now Ross was saying this would all continue, Ross was granting her the wish that had been dearest to her heart for so many months, and all Caroline could do was weep. It was ridiculous. It was an abominable weakness, and she turned her face away from Ross, hoping that the shadows cast by candlelight would conceal all trace of it from him.

 

But of course it could not hide anything. Not from Ross, nor from Demelza, and certainly not from Dwight, who knew her best of all. Ross gave a smothered exclamation and came across the bed to her, just as Dwight surged up from the end of the bed, one arm already reaching for her. And Demelza, of course, was right beside Caroline, and she wrapped an arm around Caroline’s waist just before the two men engulfed her in an embrace, bracketing her between them, Demelza caught somewhere too. All was warm skin and closeness, and Caroline closed her eyes and rested her head on a shoulder. Dwight’s, perhaps, or Ross’s. It didn’t matter. It simply didn’t matter any more. Dwight murmured her name, and lips found her forehead. Ross’s, she thought, judging by the brush of stubble against her skin. She hoped that nobody would ask her why she wept, and indeed for a short while none of them spoke at all. Then Demelza spoke – brave Demelza, voicing what Caroline did not dare voice at present.

 

“I love you,” she said, very softly but without hesitation. “I love you all. Maybe it’s not precisely the same feeling for each of you, but I suppose it wouldn’t be, would it? Like…like loving your children differently, but the same.”

 

“Yes,” Ross agreed. “Yes, I suppose that’s as good a way as any to put it.” He paused, then added: “Though I don’t care to suppose that you feel maternally for any one of us!”

 

Caroline snorted through her tears. “ _Ross_ ,” she reproached him. It was an off-colour joke, but she knew he said it only to provoke a reaction, mirth or exasperation or anything else to quell her tears. There was movement somewhere, and Ross made an outraged sound, as if somebody – Demelza, perhaps – had poked him in a vulnerable spot. It made Caroline smile, which she imagined was just what they both wanted. “You know quite well what Demelza means,” she said, trying to lift a hand to wipe her face. She couldn’t manage it, too many limbs and torsos all pressed close together, but somebody did it for her.

 

“I do,” Ross conceded. “I do. I love all of my children equally, but I cannot say that the…the _shape_ of that love, the form of it, is the same for Jeremy as it is for Clowance, or for Bella.”

 

“They’re – what’s the word – incomparable,” said Demelza. She sighed then, and wriggled a little. Caroline moved too, and Ross and Dwight both retreated a little, just enough to rearrange them all slightly. Demelza knelt beside Caroline and looked straight at her, her gaze unwavering. “D’you see?” she asked. Her eyes were wide, earnest, and Caroline looked back at her and _loved_ her, deeply and helplessly. She had to say so. She had to find the courage the voice the words that she had, after all, spoken before, to each of these three people who were still so close to her, still tangling arms around her to keep her cradled between them. Caroline must force herself to be Demelza’s equal in bravery, because she would not, _could_ not, let Demelza be the only one to open her heart so frankly.

 

“I do,” Caroline said. “I see.” She leaned forwards and kissed Demelza, briefly but tenderly. Dwight’s hand stroked down her arm, clasped her fingers in his, as if he sensed she needed his support and his strength. She gripped his hand tight. It was a help and a comfort, though Caroline would deny ever needing such a thing, if anyone asked. “And I – I love you,” she managed. “All of you.”

 

“So I should hope, after all of this,” Ross said, with a kind of mocking gravity. A choke lodged in Caroline’s throat – half laugh, half sob, incredulous that Ross should be teasing and yet, at the same time, not at all surprised. Demelza rolled her eyes skywards, as if she, too, couldn’t quite believe Ross’s demeanour. Caroline had to smile at that, and she lifted her free hand to wipe away the last of her tears. No more, she resolved. No more tears.

 

“ _Ross_ ,” said Dwight, in a strained voice. “It isn’t fair for you to – to –,”

 

“No,” Ross agreed, cutting Dwight off. “No, it isn’t. I…” He trailed off. Caroline met Demelza’s eyes and saw that Demelza was, if not as unsure as Caroline and Dwight, at least _somewhat_ uncertain about what lay below Ross’s ill-timed witticisms. “Do you know,” Ross said after a few moments, more thoughtful than before, “I’ve never seen you cry before, Caroline. No, wait – I have, once. When you came to Verity’s house, when we’d brought Dwight back from France. You cried then. I remember. It was the relief of it, wasn’t it? Of seeing him alive and in one piece?”

 

“Yes,” Caroline said in a low voice. She looked down at her hand clasped in Dwight’s, her slender fingers and his broader. “Yes, it was the relief of it. And now…Ross, don’t tease me, don’t be coy.” She turned to him, wished he had some article of clothing on so that she could grasp it and pull him to her. “You wish us to continue? Truly?”

 

“I do,” said Ross. His gravity was real now, his earnestness clear. “I do wish it. I think Demelza put it well in saying it’s not the same love I feel for each of you.” Caroline inhaled sharply, and Dwight grasped her hand tighter than ever. Ross wasn’t looking at any of them now, as if he needed to avoid their eyes to be able to say what he was saying. “For me, Demelza is beyond all other women. I have never loved anybody like her and I cannot envisage loving anyone else as I love her.”

 

“Oh, Ross,” Demelza murmured. A quick glance showed that she wasn’t blushing at the compliment, but her eyes were bright with tears.

 

“But I love you, too,” Ross said, not responding to Demelza. “You, Caroline, and Dwight. I could never have imagined it, but the friendship we’ve all shared, these last few years…yes, on my part, I think it’s safe to say that my feelings have grown beyond mere friendship.” Now, at last, he did look up, straight past Caroline as he looked at Dwight, who was on Caroline’s other side. His eyes were dark, his whole demeanour serious. “I love you both,” he said, but he said it to Dwight. And Caroline realised that she didn’t mind that; she didn’t mind that Ross said it so directly to Dwight, because she knew the struggles they both had faced in coming to terms with this liaison, this relationship. She knew the struggles that, no doubt, still lay ahead. She didn’t begrudge Dwight the chance to have Ross look him in the eye and profess his feelings. She was glad for him.

 

“I never thought I could,” Ross was saying, “and as we said earlier, it could not have been for any other…but there it is. My feelings have changed.” He smiled suddenly, unexpectedly, warmth flooding back into his eyes. He always looked younger when he smiled, less gaunt somehow, and his true smiles were infectious. Even before he spoke, Caroline could feel herself smiling back at him. “So you see,” he said, “I am all in favour of a next time. And many times after that, too. Though I still have – mmph!”

 

Demelza had interrupted him by the simple expedient of kissing him. It was an excellent idea, and Caroline eagerly copied it, reaching forwards and steadying herself with a hand on Demelza’s shoulder so she, too, could kiss Ross, vying with Demelza for Ross’s lips and attention. Then Dwight was there too, kissing Caroline and kissing Ross and his hand cupping Demelza’s cheek. The kisses passed between them easily, organically almost, shared and claimed and relinquished from one to another. Two at a time, three at a time, mouths and lips and hands all tenderly expressing the feelings for which words had become inadequate.

 

Caroline’s heart felt full to bursting. This was what she had wanted; this was what she had yearned for, all these long months. The four of them, together like this, not just in passion, not just joining their bodies, but joining their hearts. Of course there would always be a separation, a division – there would be things that she shared with Dwight alone, and Ross and Demelza would be the same – and Caroline doubted that she ever would know Ross or Demelza in the same way that she knew Dwight, just as she would never love them in quite the same way. But they would love each other, as openly and freely as they were able. Caroline had dared to dream, dared to hope, and all this afternoon and evening, all this long, passionate night, she had still harboured a fear that this would only be hers for one brief interlude. The fear was gone, now. Ross had banished it, and Caroline was sure that she would never be able to express her relief and her happiness.

 

It was a happiness that Demelza shared. She was happy for herself, of course, for she had, over the past months, grown to understand the depths and complexities of her own heart, and her heart’s willingness, eagerness even, to love Caroline and Dwight in this romantic way. She was happy for Caroline, who had pinned so much on the success of her scheme that its failure would no doubt have been a grievous blow. She was deeply happy for Dwight, who had always struck Demelza as a soul in need of much loving. And for Ross – oh, she was happy for Ross, and proud of him, for she knew how difficult he found it, at times, to speak openly of his emotions, to admit and acknowledge them. She was so glad that he had found the courage to do so now, and she’d had to kiss him, both for that and for his sincere statement of his love for her.

 

She would be perfectly and completely happy in this moment, were it not for the knowledge that soon – too soon – she and Ross must leave, and go back to their own bedroom for the rest of the night.

 

And indeed, far sooner than Demelza would have liked, Ross pulled back from them all and offered a rueful expression.

 

“We must go,” he said. “I’m sorry. But if we stay here…” If they stayed there, Demelza knew, soon enough one or another of them would fall asleep, and they could not risk that. It must be late – or perhaps early. The drawn curtains stopped her looking for a clue in the night sky, but she thought it must be three in the morning at least. Dawn was early still, even though midsummer had passed, and somebody would be up and about in the house not much later than that. Better to go now than to risk being caught, even though all Demelza wanted now was to lie back down in the bed, cramped up close with Ross and Caroline and Dwight, and fall asleep with them.

 

“Yes,” agreed Dwight, sounding as reluctant as Demelza felt. “Yes, I suppose so.” He kissed Demelza one more time, and then he too withdrew, back to the end of the bed where he had been before, as if he felt that he required distance in order to say goodnight. Caroline sighed heavily, but offered no verbal complaint as Demelza disentangled herself and began to search for her nightdress. She found Caroline’s shift first, then her nightdress, and before long only Dwight was still bare – and he, perhaps conscious of the fact, was already slipping beneath the blankets on the bed, pulling them up to give him some modesty. Demelza would have smiled, but for the sadness she felt at having to leave.

 

“I don’t want you to go,” Caroline said. She stood beside the bed, head lowered, her hands tightly clasped together. “This might all be…”

 

“A dream?” Demelza suggested. She went to Caroline and hugged her close, burrowed her face against Caroline’s neck and smelled the fresh scent of soap, and listened to Caroline’s heartbeat. “I know,” she said softly. “I know.”

 

“But it isn’t,” said Ross. “Here, look.” He swept Demelza’s hair over her shoulder and touched the place on her neck where he, and Dwight and Caroline, had bestowed so much attention. Even the gentle touch was tender; Demelza didn’t need a mirror to know that she would be bruised there. “And here.” He slipped two fingers beneath the neckline of Caroline’s shift. There was a mark there, Demelza supposed – on Caroline’s breast. Ross lingered for a moment, and Demelza kissed Caroline’s throat and then lifted her head to share a warm, amused glance with the other woman. They communicated without words. Then Ross cleared his throat and withdrew from them both. “It isn’t a dream,” he said. “But we must go. I’m sorry.”

 

It was tempting to delay it, and Demelza was sure she was not the only one feeling that temptation, but it must be done. She kissed Caroline, and kissed Dwight, and Ross did the same, lingering a little more with Dwight and murmuring something to him that Demelza couldn’t hear. Then he went to the door, and Demelza followed without a backward glance, because to glance backwards, she felt, would be fatal. She hurried from the guest room, tiptoed down the hallway, and only relaxed when she and Ross were in their own room, and the door firmly shut behind.

 

It was cooler in here; she had left a window open by accident. Demelza closed it, and poured water from a pitcher into the wash basin as Ross lit a candle for her to see by. She stripped and washed herself quickly, perfunctorily, tired now and a little chilled, and more than ready to be in bed and going to sleep with Ross beside her. The whole glorious night was over, the love and the desire and the warmth of it. But not over forever; it would happen again. And in the morning, they would rise and breakfast together, and it would of course be utterly secret – the children and servants must never, ever know anything about it – but it would be a secret that was shared between she and Ross and Caroline and Dwight, an extra warmth to their interactions. Afterwards, the Enyses would go back to Killewarren, and life at Nampara would continue on as ever before. Jeremy would continue to sprout up like a weed, Clowance would continue to act the tomboy, Bella would get underfoot at the most inconvenient of moments. The farm work would go on under Ross’s supervision, Demelza would manage the house and the servants, and in September Jeremy would go back to school and Ross would go back to London. All would be as it was, and yet nothing would be as it was. Everything would be changed.

 

She put on her nightgown and joined Ross in the bed. He blew out the candle and they lay together, side by side in the darkness. Outside an owl hooted. After a while Demelza reached out and found Ross’s hand. She whispered his name.

 

“It’s strange,” he said, as if in answer to some question. “Quite strange. Human nature, I mean. When provoked, man is capable of things he never dreamed possible.” Demelza inhaled to speak, but Ross went on, and his words made her subside. “I don’t mean provoked in a negative sense, you understand. I mean…I mean that when one is faced with a situation that seems impossible or inescapable, we are all capable of extraordinary leaps of – of imagination, or of courage.”

 

“Ross,” Demelza whispered again. “Ross, are you – are you happy?”

 

He was silent for a time before he spoke again. “I believe I am,” he eventually replied, with a note of wonderment in his voice. Demelza smiled to herself, pleased to hear him say so and secure in the knowledge that he could not see her smile. It was not in Ross’s nature to be content; he was too restless, too active, and often too self-critical to be content with what he had, no matter how happy he might be in any one moment of time. She knew there would be more to talk about, more to decide, boundaries to be drawn and redrawn as they all stumbled on in this strange new world. But for now, he was happy. Then he said again: “It’s strange.”

 

“What is?”

 

“I thought perhaps we would be less content with each other, if we opened ourselves up to Dwight and Caroline. But I don’t feel that at all.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. Demelza wriggled a little closer to him, and he moved too, the mattress shifting as he did. She felt his breath on her face and then his lips on her forehead. She thought she knew what he meant. He meant what she herself also felt: that Ross was almost _more_ hers, more her beloved and cherished husband, because of what they now shared with Caroline and Dwight. It made no sense. There was no logic behind it, no explanation that she could give for why it should be so. And yet somehow it was, nonetheless. She loved him no less than ever before, and in some ways she felt that she loved him more. Their love had a new dimension to it, a new facet that added to the whole rather than detracting in any way.

 

“And you, my love?” he asked her then, so close to her, so intimate. “You are happy?”

 

“Yes, Ross,” Demelza smiled. “I am happy.” Ross kissed her again, an affirming, loving kiss goodnight. Morning would come soon enough, and there was no more need to speak. Demelza shifted into a comfortable position, yawned once, and fell asleep still holding Ross’s hand.

 

* * *

 

The wintry, November wind blew Demelza’s hair across her face and sent sea spray flicking over her skirts. It was too cold to be outside, really – colder than usual for the time of year – but it wasn’t raining, and she had wanted some solitude. Nampara could feel very crowded sometimes, even with Ross and Jeremy both away. Demelza was always in demand; there was always something to do. But sometimes, even with the house work and the children and the servants, Demelza was overcome with the ache of missing Ross. Sometimes her busy life was almost unbearable because her husband was hundreds of miles away in London. When the ache grew intolerable, when she looked at his favourite chair and his old coat in the closet and _missed_ him, Demelza came out to stand at the stile that led down to Hendrawna beach. From here she could watch the sea and wrap herself in memories and longings without feeling that she had to jolly herself out of the mood, for the sake of her children.

 

A letter had come from Ross that morning, which was always an occasion of great happiness, but the letter had been accompanied by a parcel for Clowance, whose birthday it was next week. Demelza had hidden the package before that young lady had spotted it, harbouring a twinge of discontent that once again Ross would be away for Clowance’s birthday. It could not be helped; Parliament was in session, and Clowance’s birthday was inconveniently timed in that sense. But Demelza felt that there were so few birthdays left to her, that time was hurtling forwards in an appalling fashion, her children already slipping away from her little by little, and she had never quite reconciled herself to the fact that Ross must, by necessity, miss so much. So the arrival of the package gave her that familiar, though fleeting, twinge of discontent that he had once again needed to send a parcel, rather than giving a gift to Clowance in person.

 

The letter itself pleased her, for it said he would return earlier than expected, well before Christmas. It would be a merry December, a merry Christmas, with Ross home for so long. Perhaps Jeremy might come home a week earlier from school, and they would have a joyous time together. Ross wrote of other things too, of course. He sent his love and birthday kisses to Clowance, and spoke about a speech he had given in Parliament. At the end of the letter, almost as an afterthought except that she knew Ross had not intended it so, he had written that he expected she would see Dwight and Caroline soon enough, so perhaps she could pass on the enclosed note, and tell them that he greatly anticipated their next meeting.

 

She had not read the enclosed note, which was not sealed, but all morning it had seemed to burn in her pocket, and her heart had fluttered, and she had _remembered_. It was not the pain of missing Ross that had driven Demelza out to the stile this afternoon, on a day too blustery to allow the children outside. Or at least, that was only part of it. She missed Ross and she _ached_ for him, but his final few sentences about the Enyses had made her miss them, too. She saw them both frequently, of course, but they kept to Ross’s edict: nothing separate, nothing without him there. Once or twice, it was true, one of them had kissed her, but Ross had granted his blessing for that, and nothing more than those few kisses had happened between she, Dwight and Caroline. Not since Ross had left.

 

Often when they did meet, she and Caroline or she and Dwight or all three of them together, Demelza had known that they, too, were thinking of the remarkable summer that had passed like a golden season, full of the splendour of love. They were all remembering the things that had happened, what had been done and spoken and shared, in those glorious months, though their meetings had been scarce enough. Three or four times, they had managed to share the night together. There had been a few more evenings when they had sent away the servants and dallied over a long dinner, with kissing and touching and discreet, quiet loving, always with an ear for the servants and an eye to the clock. It had not been enough for any of them, but it was as it was, and now Demelza had those memories, too, to sustain her in the months when Ross was away.

 

It was longing that had sent her outside today. Longing for Ross, and longing for Caroline and Dwight, and a breathless anticipation of what might happen once Ross was home.

 

“Demelza? What are you doing out here? It’s too cold to be standing about.”

 

Demelza turned, startled and pleased. “Dwight! Judas, you gave me a scare. What are you doing here?” He might have been summoned by her thoughts, so unexpectedly had he arrived. He had a muffler around his neck, and as he reached her side, he began to unwind it, his intention clearly to give it to Demelza. She glanced around out of habit, to make sure there was nobody about, and he did the same, and then he wrapped the muffler around her and bent to kiss her cheek.

 

“I’ve been sent on an errand,” he explained. “Two-fold, in fact. Caroline sent me with some news, and from Nampara I have been sent to bring you in to arbitrate some dispute between Clowance and Bella.” Demelza rolled her eyes, and Dwight chuckled. “Well, I didn’t linger to hear the full story, though I gather it was something to do with the new cat. Ross always claims those two never squabble, but perhaps he’s just misinformed.”

 

“All children quarrel sometimes,” Demelza smiled. “Even the most angelic, and neither of them are angels.”

 

“Perhaps not,” Dwight conceded. “But why are you out here, Demelza?”

 

“I like to come here when I’m missing Ross,” she said. Dwight reached out and touched her arm, his sympathy obvious, and Demelza didn’t shake him off. There was nobody about. There might be one or two people on Hendrawna beach later, after core change at the mine, but there was nobody now. “And when I miss other people, too,” she added, a trifle coyly. “Though that part’s more recent.”

 

Dwight’s eyes glinted at her. “We miss you, too,” he said. There was a weight of meaning in his words, and she knew it, and she smiled again. He looked around once more, as if to be absolutely certain they were alone, and then he bent his head again, kissing her mouth this time, tenderly. Demelza closed her eyes and lifted a hand to brush her fingertips across his cheek. Her heart swelled with affection. Then Dwight withdrew, his hand leaving her arm, and Demelza let her fingers fall away from his face. “It _is_ unfair on you,” he said. “And on Ross, too, I suppose, but you’re here, and so are we, and so…”

 

“And so,” Demelza agreed. “But don’t feel too badly for me, Dwight. Don’t think I spend all my time moping after you all!” Dwight laughed, and Demelza laughed too, and fumbled in her pocket for the note from Ross. “I had a letter from him today,” she said, “and he sent a note for you and Caroline. Here. It wasn’t sealed, but I haven’t read it.”

 

Dwight unfolded the page and read it quickly. His expressive face revealed many of the things she herself felt, as his eyes glanced across the paper. A flush in his cheeks that wasn’t put there by the weather, a quirk of his lips upwards in the faintest of smiles. Whatever Ross had written to him, and to Caroline, Dwight was pleased by it. After another moment or two, he showed her the note. It was brief – far briefer than Ross’s letter to Demelza – and couched in terms that might easily be read as mere friendliness, but she read between the lines as easily as Dwight did. Ross missed them; he looked forward to seeing them; there was much he wished to say but it must wait for his return.

 

In other words, Demelza thought wryly, there were things he did not dare commit to paper, in case the letter should go astray and be read by anybody other than its intended recipient. She remembered their last night together as a foursome. Ross and Caroline had vied with each other to see which of them could make Dwight and Demelza blush most, goading each other on to speak ideas and suggestions on what they might all do together, how they might join, whose mouth on what body part, more explicit and lewd with every passing minute, building the sexual tension between them all until Dwight had broken under it, and seized Caroline, and occupied her mouth in other ways. Which, on reflection, had no doubt been part of the pleasure for Ross and Caroline both – pushing Dwight, and Demelza too, to some edge and then watching them spiral over it.

 

Her cheeks were hot, despite the cold wind. She did not dare look at Dwight, for fear he might see where her mind had take her. She passed the note back to him without glancing up.

 

“I confess I’m glad to have some reassurance, from time to time,” Dwight admitted to her then. “Sometimes I wonder if distance might make Ross think again.”

 

“Oh, no,” Demelza said at once. “No, that couldn’t happen, Dwight.” Forgetting her own discomfort, she looked up at him and put her hand on his. “You don’t truly think that, do you?” Dwight could not quite conceal from her that he did have doubts, even now, and Demelza grasped his other hand and waited until he met her gaze. “Ross loves you, Dwight,” she said, utterly sure that what she was saying was the truth. “He does. He’s said so, and shown you so – shown us all. He won’t change his mind, not about this.”

 

Dwight let out a breath. “You know him best, my dear,” he said. “It’s only in my…my darker moments, I suppose, that I fear it. I hardly spend all of my time doubting my own memories of this summer, but sometimes it creeps up on one.”

 

“Like loneliness,” agreed Demelza, with a sympathetic smile. “But here, you have proof in this note, though it isn’t so plain-spoken as we’d like. He’ll be back early December, back home where he belongs for a whole month, and we’ll have to arrange a dinner party.”

 

Dwight’s soberness faded away, and he returned her smile with a warm one of his own. “Yes, indeed,” he agreed. “And sooner rather than later, I think. It would be as well to see as much of each other as we can before Ross goes back for the spring. By the time he comes home next summer, Caroline will be refusing to let anyone touch her.” Demelza frowned, confused, but Dwight’s smile only broadened. “She’s about six weeks forward,” he said. “We anticipate an arrival in June, if all goes well.”

 

“Oh!” Demelza exclaimed, and then she flung her arms around Dwight and hugged him tightly – too tightly for propriety, but she didn’t care to pause and see if their solitude had been encroached upon. It was such happy news, and to have such happiness brought to her on a day when she had been inclining towards loneliness and the ache of missing her husband and her other loves, was like a warm sun pushing away rain clouds. “Oh, Dwight! Oh, I’m so glad! Is she well? Is she happy? May I come and see her – when may I come? – Oh, I must write Ross at once, he’ll be so happy for you both!”

 

Dwight hugged her back just as tight. “Yes, she’s well,” he laughed. “A little sickness in the mornings, but otherwise she’s perfectly well. And happy enough – you know Caroline.”

 

“Oh, yes!” Demelza wiped her eyes and beamed up at him when Dwight released her. “Oh, I’m so happy for you,” she said. “Another child!”

 

“She sent me to tell you as soon as we were sure,” he said, smilingly. “She wanted you and Ross to be the first to know, now that we’re sure. She’s suspected for a few weeks, but you know Caroline, she refuses to let me examine her. You can come yourself and see her, any afternoon you like. But surely it would be better to wait to tell Ross until he’s here? A letter…”

 

“No, no, it must be a letter,” she insisted. “He’ll want to know at once.” She paused, and softened her excitement a little. Dwight’s hesitation was obvious, and the reason for it was clear after the words they had just exchanged. Dwight wasn’t sure, still, of how deeply Ross felt for him. It wasn’t a fault she could possibly blame him for, because though boundaries had been eroded, over those glorious summer months, still the most difficult aspect of the whole affair had been Ross and Dwight’s feelings for each other, romantic and sexual. They had grown so much more comfortable with each other, but she knew Ross, too, had still harboured doubts by the time he had readied to return to Parliament. Not about his feelings for Dwight, but about what those feelings might mean for his character, and his self-awareness. It could never have been anybody but Dwight, Ross had tried to explain to her one evening, but even with Dwight, even though Ross loved Dwight and wanted him…it was still hard, somehow, to come to terms with the idea of himself as a man who loved another man.

 

So Demelza would never blame Dwight for his own hesitations, his own doubts, for she imagined he felt many of the same things that Ross did.

 

“He’ll want to know,” she said again. “He loves you both, Dwight. And so do I. T’isn’t easy to trust, I know…t’is all very strange and new, still. But Ross’d want to know this as soon as ever he could be told. A letter won’t take three days, to reach him, and he’ll be that glad.”

 

“If you think so,” Dwight said slowly, “then perhaps…perhaps I’ll write to him myself. We correspond rarely when he’s in London, but perhaps…”

 

“Yes, you should write,” Demelza nodded. “But you’ll write today? No, wait – you can come in to Nampara and write it there. If you go home, you’ll get distracted by work.” She laughed at his expression, but he couldn’t deny it. Then Demelza risked all once more to reach up and kiss him. It was a little more than chaste, lingered a little too long to be considered a merely friendly kiss, but they were both careful not to let it become too deep. Not because of the danger of being caught, but because of the danger of growing too close when nothing further could happen. Dwight kissed the tip of her nose before he withdrew, and Demelza smiled. “I must get back in to the children,” she said, “before they scare the cat too much. But you’ll come with me? We’ve plenty of paper and ink, though you might have to sharpen a pen.”

 

Dwight linked his arm through hers. “Gladly, my dear. Gladly.” And arm in arm, they went back to Nampara together, back to a busy house, full of children running rampant and servants needing orders, and full of so much love within its stone walls.


End file.
